Up In Smoke
by angellwings
Summary: Spoilers for 2x05 and 2x06. Lucy does something desperate and unexpected and Wyatt has regrets. Updated 10/2018 with a BONUS chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Spoilers for 2x05 and 2x06. Also be warned...no happy endings found here.

Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

 _Up In Smoke_

 _By Angellwings_

* * *

" _I had a dream about a burning house,_

 _You were stuck inside I couldn't get you out,_

 _I laid beside you and pulled you close,_

 _And the two of us went up in smoke._

 _Love isn't all that is seems,_

 _I did you wrong._

 _I'll stay here with you until this dream is gone."_

 _-"Burning House" by Cam_

* * *

The perimeter alarm blared and Wyatt was immediately up, gun plucked from its hiding spot. He looked across to check the other cot, only remembering in that moment, that Jess had left nearly twenty hours ago. Before the jump. Before they finally finished Keynes (though not Rittenhouse.) The threat Emma threw at Lucy as they retreated still rang in his ears like a gunshot. He padded his way down the hall to the room Lucy shared with Jiya and knocked lightly. He would clear their room first before checking all the others.

Jiya answered with bleary eyes.

"What's going on?" She yelled, to be heard over the alarm.

"Perimeter alarm," he replied. "Lucy with you?"

Jiya glanced back into the room. "No. Her sheets haven't been touched either. She probably fell asleep on the couch again."

He scoffed. "Doubt she's asleep now."

They made their way to Rufus's room but he was already halfway out the door. That was two people accounted for. Three more still to be counted. But when they reached the common room, Wyatt in front with his gun held high, the only person waiting for them was Mason.

Fear and panic filled Wyatt. He walked carefully but with quickened steps toward the bunker door. The ladder was in view and so was the night sky through the open hatch. The alarm was blaring and his ears were ringing. He counted four of the bunker's six residence, all staring at the open door and hatch.

Still no Lucy. No Flynn.

No. No, no, no.

"Lucy!" Wyatt yelled as he turned away from the door. "Shit, she's gotta be here."

"What?" Rufus asked. "What is it?"

"The door was open," Wyatt said frantically. "Have you seen Lucy?"

Rufus shook his head. "No, not since I went to bed. She was sitting at the table with Flynn."

 _Flynn_. It couldn't be a coincidence that he was gone too.

Rufus turned to Jiya. "She never came to the room last night?"

Jiya swallowed and then shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "No."

Wyatt's eyes narrowed on her. Did she know something?

Rufus looked passed Wyatt to the open hatch and his mouth fell open as he thought. Wyatt didn't think he was ready for the words he knew Rufus would say next. He kept his gun trained on the open door and prepared himself as best he could.

"Flynn's gone too, right? You-you don't think that they...did they leave _together_?" Rufus asked in a raised voice. "Can we shut that damn hatch? The alarm noise is driving me insane!"

"No!" Wyatt shouted. "No one moves until we find Lucy and Flynn. They have to be here! Lucy's knows the risks! She would never—it's too dangerous!"

"Wyatt…" Jiya said with a furrowed brow and a conflicted sigh.

"I'll check bathroom, Rufus you check the—"

"Wyatt!" Jiya said loudly as she turned and met his eyes. "She's not here."

"What the hell are you talking about, Jiya? Did she say something to you?" Wyatt asked as he stepped into Jiya's space.

The perimeter alarm stopped and Wyatt whirled around with his gun raised to find Rufus descending the ladder. His friend held his hands up in surrender, "I'm sorry. I couldn't think. I had to stop it."

"Put the gun away, Wyatt. No one broke in," Jiya told him with a sympathetic glance. "She broke out."

"How do you know that?" Wyatt asked her again. Why? Why would she? It didn't make any sense.

"I saw it," Jiya said with an apologetic wince. "Before we left for that last jump I—I had a vision. Lucy had a duffle bag strap across her shoulders and she was climbing the ladder. She's not here. _She left_."

The fear he felt earlier burned into despair and rage. They only returned from the jump six hours ago. She seemed fine when they landed. Well, as fine as Lucy could be lately. What with her forced smiles and haunted eyes and cagey desperation - that had started to make her unpredictable in the field. Would she really just leave? Where would she go? _Why_ would she leave? Who would keep her safe?

The answer came back to him faster than he liked and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 _Flynn._

A few months ago that would have been him. But not now. He had fucked all of that up. He was no longer the one she trusted with her plans and secrets.

"If she wanted to leave," Rufus said with hurt etched across his face. "Why wouldn't she tell _us_?"

Rufus looked to Wyatt for an answer. Wyatt chose to say nothing. He couldn't think of anything that would make this better.

Jiya huffed and rolled her eyes. "Really? Is this that much of a surprise to either of you? Christopher and I wondered how she stayed every day so how could the two of you not see it? You're both supposed to know her better than any of us. Honestly, I'm surprised she didn't leave _sooner_."

"Of course _you're_ not surprised," Rufus told her in a biting tone. "You had a _vision_."

"That's right," Jiya said as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I did. I wanted to tell you, Rufus, but considering how that went the last time I thought you wouldn't _want_ me to. Besides, my visions are nothing more than a _side effect_ , right?"

"I'm going after them," Wyatt announced. He didn't have time for whatever lover's spat Rufus and Jiya were having. Lucy was out there alone _with Flynn_. "They couldn't have gotten far. I'll find her and bring her back."

He started to run back to his room to change when Mason stopped him.

"I don't think she wants to be found, mate."

Mason's tone was almost regretful, as if he hated to be the one to say it. It was funny to Wyatt that it was Mason who pointed that out to him. Mason, who largely stood on the outside edges of the drama. Mason, who for the longest time was too caught up in himself to help them fight Rittenhouse. Mason, who didn't really know Lucy at all.

"He's got a point," Rufus said with a sad sigh. "What are you gonna do if you catch up to her, Wyatt? Throw her over your shoulder?"

"If I have to," he sneered. "Emma is still out there. _Rittenhouse_ is still out there. They'll come harder for her now that Keynes is dead. They won't stop. If she stays out there she'll die."

"I don't know," Jiya said with an arched eyebrow. "It seems if you're gonna be off the grid then Flynn would be the guy to call. He lived off the grid for years, didn't he? I think she's in pretty capable hands. In fact, she might be safer _out there_ than in here." Jiya paused before she added one final line. One final line that punched Wyatt in the gut. "Maybe even be _happier_ too."

He felt sick. Like he'd been to 1754 and back in the Lifeboat a few thousand times. The idea of Lucy being safer and happier without him had the power to collapse his lungs. He reached a hand out and pressed it against the nearest rusted metal wall. He leaned his weight against it and bent over at the waist to try and manage the wave of nausea he was feeling. Had he really been that horrible to her? Had he been so dense and so clueless, so inconsiderate, that she felt the need to run as far and as fast as she could? He knew - _he knew -_ he fucked up. His mistakes kept piling up over the last several weeks to the point of crushing him beneath them. He was half assing everything with Jessica because he was too busy watching Lucy and he was hurting Lucy by keeping Jessica around the bunker. He was hurting two women he claimed to care about and, despite his attempt to do what he thought was the right thing, being a complete and utter _asshole_.

The deciding factor, the moment that _finally_ woke him up, was the knowledge that Keynes put a price on Lucy's head. They were coming for her and the idea of a life without Lucy…

Well that's what he was feeling now, wasn't it? Nauseas, breathless - he ached all over. Was it possible for a heart to literally break? And if it was, could it kill you? If so, he might be dying.

It sounded overdramatic, he knew, but it wasn't.

"Wyatt?" He heard Rufus ask. He barely heard it through the fog of his pain.

Wyatt managed to straighten up and look Rufus in the eye. He realized Mason and Jiya had left the room. They'd already given up on getting Lucy back. She wasn't taken, she left, so to them there was nothing else to do. Lucy made her choice.

"Rufus," Wyatt said as he felt remorse building up in his throat. The same remorse he felt after he stole the time machine to save Jessica. It was the exact kind of regret he felt for abandoning his friends. Deep and all encompassing. He came out of that so sure he was meant to do one thing: protect Rufus and Lucy. Had he forgotten that? Had he forgotten _her_? "What the hell did I do?"

"I hate to admit it, but it wasn't just you," Rufus replied as he leaned a shoulder against the bunker wall. "I'm partly to blame too."

"For what?" Wyatt asked in confusion.

Rufus shook his head and looked down at the grimey bunker floor. "I've been caught up in my own _shit_. Even with Jiya, I-I've not been a very good teammate or friend or partner to _anyone_ lately. Lucy was right there. She was clearly hurting. Everyone else saw it and I...I did nothing. I did nothing? This is _Lucy_. I killed that man in Houston and she was right there with me, holding my hand through it. And after she found out about those recordings she forgave me so quickly! I gave her grief about the journal all the while I had a secret of my own and she forgave me almost instantly. Lucy, who gives the best damn hugs on the planet - and I did nothing to comfort her. I kept my distance. _We_ joked about you and Jessica when we knew there was a chance she could overhear. This place is a freaking tin can. Why didn't we think about that?" Rufus sighed and closed his eyes. "I bring all of this up to say...it wasn't just you. I failed her too. Somewhere along the way, we lost the Time Team and it might be too late to get it back."

"It can't be too late," Wyatt said with a shake of his head. " _It can't be_. I know my timing has always sucked, especially with Lucy, but...I _need_ her. I had a plan. I was going to talk to her in the morning over breakfast. I knew it wasn't going to be as simple as her taking me back, I'm not an idiot, but I thought...I thought I could convince her to let me try again. Or at least get us back to being the friends we once were. I can't stay away from her anymore. She makes me the person I want to be, the person I _should_ be. I should have seen it from the beginning, I know but-" He stopped and swallowed thickly before continuing in a bitter tone. "Though, what does it matter now, right?" Wyatt asked. "She's gone and Jiya's right, if she's with Flynn we'll never find her. He's too good."

Rufus was silent for several minutes and Wyatt understood why. There was nothing left to say or do. Just acceptance. Acceptance of how their mistakes had cost them Lucy. Compassionate, brilliant, brave Lucy Preston had chosen to leave them both. She finally fought for what she wanted, made a choice that wasn't selfless, and that choice...was to live in a world outside the bunker without the Lifeboat, Rufus, Wyatt, or time travel.

"We should call Agent Christopher," Rufus said hesitantly. "She needs to know. She'll want to at least go looking for Flynn. He's still a criminal."

Wyatt knew he was right. They should call Agent Christopher.

But that would mean a manhunt that would result in Lucy and Flynn being caught and brought back to the bunker. Flynn was good but he wasn't good enough to escape DHS with only a half hour jump on them. If they really wanted to get away they needed more time.

He failed Lucy in every other way. He noticed her grim face for months. She wasn't happy. He knew it but he never said anything to her about it.

" _You deserve to finally be happy, Wyatt_."

And so did she. If this would make her happy then, who was he to keep her from it?

No one. He was no one to her now.

"And we will," Wyatt told him as he felt tears pooling in his eyes. "But not yet. Let's give them until the morning at least." He suddenly remember that night he watched her cry on the stairs. The night he asked her to buy him some time so he could go back in the Lifeboat and save Jessica. "She stalled Agent Christopher for me once. I think it's time I repay the favor."

"Are you sure?" Rufus asked.

"I'm not gonna get my second chance to fix everything I did wrong, Rufus. But I can do this small thing. I can give her time. So, yes, I'm sure."

Rufus nodded slowly. "I'm never getting back to sleep now."

Wyatt snorted derisively. "You and me, both. Come on," Wyatt said as he removed his hand from the wall and walked toward the kitchen. "Let's get a drink. After the last twenty four hours I think I need a whisky."

Rufus and Wyatt were still slowly drinking when Agent Christopher arrived for the day, three hours later. Regrettably, Wyatt was only buzzed when Denise's disappointed eyes found his.

"Drinking at nine in the morning, gentleman? Don't you both have better things to do?" Denise asked.

"Well, ma'am," Wyatt said with a wince. He regretted the use of 'ma'am' instantly, all it did was remind him of _her_. "There's not much point to it all since Lucy left, so...no. We don't have better things to do."

"Lucy... _left_?" Denise asked with wide concerned eyes. "Where did she go? When?"

"You should probably ask Flynn that question," Rufus offered as he drained his glass. His words were a bit slurred. That's when Wyatt remembered he rarely saw Rufus drink anything stronger than a beer. "He left too."

So, Rufus might be drunk.

" _What_?" Agent Christopher yelled.

Rufus winced at the sound and brought a finger to his lips in a sluggish movement. "Quiet, people are sleeping. Well, two people. Mason and my girlfriend who probably hates my guts."

"She doesn't hate your guts," Wyatt assured him. " _Lucy_ hates _my_ guts."

"Oh, right," Rufus said with a nod. "She probably hates mine too."

"But not on the same level, man," Wyatt said as he poured another glass of whisky.

Agent Christopher stormed over to them as they sat at the one of the tables in the Mess. She grabbed the glasses and the bottle and angrily threw them in the sink. "What the hell happened, Master Sergeant Logan? Where are my historian and my terrorist?"

Wyatt let out a chuckle and a snort at the phrasing of her question before he answered. "Not here. Perimeter alarm went off about three hours ago. Where were your guards, by the way? Thought you said we were going to have them keeping eye on the bunker now that Keynes is dead?"

"I was waiting for approval of the funds and man hours needed for something like that," Christopher said sternly. "How drunk are the two of you?"

"Pretty drunk," Rufus said with a loud obnoxious laugh. "Fake laugh, hiding real tears."

Denise rolled her eyes. "Go hit the showers, Rufus, sober up. I'm going to need you searching surveillance footage for Flynn."

"It's no use," Wyatt told her in a despondent tone. "You won't find them. Flynn's a literal pro at hiding out. They're gone."

"They're not gone till I say they're gone. They're my assets and, damn it, we're finding them," she promised them. There was real emotion in her voice when she spoke. She wasn't using her commanding Agent voice. No, the voice he heard just then was the voice of a mother. The voice of a woman who was worried for Lucy's safety.

"She doesn't want us to find her so why even try?" Wyatt asked. She should have at least let him finish that last glass of whisky.

"So we can tell her we fought for her," Denise answered. "Isn't it about time you got off your ass and did just _that_ , Logan? Or is Lucy not worth the effort to you?"

The anger that had been numbed by the alcohol was back and Wyatt slammed his fist down on the table, causing both Christopher and Rufus to jump.

"It can be about what we _fucking_ want anymore," Wyatt said through a clenched jaw. "It has to be about what _she_ wants and what _she_ needs. She doesn't need me. So, while it may not seem like it to you, this is me _getting off my ass_ and putting Lucy's needs before my own. I'll be damned if I let you bring her back to this hellhole unless I _know_ it's what she wants. So, look for her all you want, but I want no part of it."

"What if I gave you an order, Master Sergeant?" Christopher asked firmly.

"Well, ma'am, then," Wyatt paused and smirked at her as the words from all those months ago returned to him. "-then I'd have to say, _court martial me_."

Alright, maybe he was a little drunk too.

"Me too," Rufus added with a small hiccup. "Though, I guess that would just be 'arrest me' cause I'm not military or anything." At the glare Christopher gave him, he added. "Not that the details matter, really."

And _that_ was the beginning of the week from hell. First two weeks from hell actually. Christopher's manhunt for Garcia Flynn, and by default Lucy Preston, when on without any assistance from himself or Rufus. After a day of being hungover, Rufus focused all of his energy on the Lifeboat while Wyatt started hiding whisky under his cot and retreating to his room. Unless the empty cot in his room taunted him. When that happened he snuck into Jiya and Lucy's room to let Lucy's cot taunt him instead.

She took very little with her when she left. The few clothes she had, her locket, and maybe a couple of books judging by the gaps in her makeshift storage crate bookshelf. Everything else looked just as she left it. He'd been able to lay with her in that cot one time. After 1941, after they showered and changed. They were exhausted from the mission and from other more enjoyable activities when they'd tumbled onto her cot for a brief nap. Her head against his chest, her arms wrapped around him. They nearly got it right that time. The timing, that is.

They were so close to having it perfect.

But he saw that text and then got it all wrong.

He set fire to their friendship and their affection in a matter of hours and didn't nearly look back as much as he should have. He let the bunker burn down around them and didn't realize it until it was too late to get either one of them out. So, he would sit here and wallow in her memory because it was what he deserved. The fire was growing and enveloping him. He knew it. But how could he leave the flames when she was there in the middle of them? How could he give up a chance to hold what was left of her? If the bunker burned down around them then he would be holding on to her memory as it fell.

He could feel her now, laying against him. He could see her too. But she wasn't solid. She was a wisp of smoke, a veiled vision. A pale imitation of the woman he knew and loved.

But he would take what he could get, even as he watched the sheer hologram version of Lucy go up in smoke.

She was gone. She didn't want him. She didn't need him.

She could go on without him, he knew. But he didn't know how to go on without her. Not without becoming the man Jessica knew for six years. Not without becoming that man who left Jessica on the side of the road. Not without becoming his old man.

That two week manhunt passed by excruciatingly slowly. Wyatt found himself in Jiya and Lucy's room more than his own. Sitting and drinking in Lucy's space. Trying to soak her in.

Until one day, the perimeter alarm sounded again. Nothing could sober a man up like the sound of an insistent deafening alarm. Or the idea that maybe, just _maybe_ , Lucy decided to come home. Home to him. Home to Rufus.

Just _home_.

But what he found when he skidded to a stop in front of the bunker door, was not Lucy. No, he should have known better. He should have known the source of the disruption belonged to none other than Garcia Flynn.

Flynn grinned at Agent Christopher and leaned against the doorway. "I heard you were looking for me."

He couldn't really be blamed for what he did next, could he? He was furious and a bit drunk and Flynn looked so goddamn smug. Not only that but he came back _without Lucy_. The hatred he had for Garcia Flynn sent Wyatt careening across the room until he had Flynn held against the wall. Wyatt's hand wrapped tightly around his throat.

"Where is she?" Wyatt asked. "Is she alive? Is she safe? So, help me, if you hurt her-"

"Hurt her? Me?" Flynn asked in a strangled voice as he still somehow managed to grin. "Isn't that your job, Master Sergeant Logan?"

Wyatt recoiled so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. It was true, though, wasn't it? He hurt her more than Flynn ever had. _He_ was the monster. Not Flynn.

Flynn smoothed out the wrinkles in his collar and rolled his eyes at Wyatt's obvious distress.

"Lucy is safe," Flynn answered. "From Rittenhouse, from time travel, _all of it_. You needn't worry about her. She is where she wants to be." Flynn pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Agent Christopher. "She asks that everyone stop looking for her and sends this list of recommended historians we can consult before missions. She's not coming back."

"Not - not ever?" Jiya asked with wide tearful eyes.

"I wouldn't say not ever," Flynn told Jiya with a small sympathetic smile. "But certainly not anytime soon. Not until she's ready."

That same wispy vision of Lucy appeared in the doorway behind Flynn. She smiled at Wyatt, sadly he thought, before floating toward him. She caressed his cheek that was rough with unshaved scruff but he felt nothing. Nothing but a cold breeze. He thought she tried to say goodbye but he couldn't be sure and he never got a chance to clarify.

In the next moment the vision was gone.

Up in smoke.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Up In Smoke is now going to be a four part series it seems like. There's a lot more that I wanted to write of Lucy's POV so I'll be writing more following this one. Then I also will be writing Lucy and Wyatt's reunion. So at least four parts will be involved here, pals. Hopefully you like them!

Happy reading!

angellwings

PS - this starts out set during 2x06. After Lucy tells Wyatt to go find Jessica but before Lucy goes to Flynn's room to talk.

* * *

 _Guess you forgot what you told me,_

 _because you left my heart on the floor._

 _Baby, your ghost still haunts me,_

 _but I don't want to sleep with him no more._

 _Every little thing,_

 _I remember every little thing._

 _The high, the hurt, the shine,_

 _the stain of every little thing._

 _-"Every Little Thing" by Carly Pearce_

* * *

If only you could wash away memories as easily as dirt and grime. How many times had she wished that the lukewarm spray of the shower could rinse off the many memories of tender blue eyes with intent focus and the corresponding words that used to make her heart flutter? She couldn't, but god if she could she would scrub so hard and fast that every inch of her would be raw.

" _See ya later, Babydoll."_

" _I cannot lose you again!"_

" _Maybe we do need to stop trying to fix the past and start looking at the present."_

" _Maybe I do need to be open to possibilities."_

" _I just know I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."_

" _You haven't lost me."_

" _Nothing ahead but the open road."_

" _You saved my life, you know."_

" _I sorta stopped caring. Not anymore."_

" _It was nice to see you happy."_

Now, every remembered flick of those blue eyes to hers and every word, that used to comfort her, hurt. They taunted her with things that almost were, could have been, would never be. They lived in her heart and threatened to shatter it from the inside out. After a lifetime of never falling love, the one time she did left her falling in a never ending cavern. She couldn't see the bottom. She couldn't stop falling. She had no one to catch her either. Not anymore.

And it wasn't just the love of her life breaking her heart, but her mother too. Two people she loved with everything she had, chose someone else over her. Prioritized their past over her future. She supposed that was their right, but goddammit if it didn't make her want to collapse to the ground and never stand again.

But she couldn't and wouldn't crumble. Amy was counting on her, even if she currently didn't exist. No one remembered Amy, but her. No one cared to save Amy, but her. She had to regroup, gather the splintered pieces of her heart, and fight on. Even if she was left with nothing in the meantime.

Regrouping and sharing space with one source of heartbreak was a Herculean task. It was made even more impossible by the sight of that one time confidant and lover with the person _he_ loved with everything he had. A person who was _not_ her. A person who was down to Earth, genuinely funny, intelligent, beautiful, and who had loved _him_ first. Who knew details she had yet to uncover. A person who would _always_ be first in his heart.

The words that made up her rapid downfall mingled with the comforting ones until a jumble of them bounced around in her skull. She couldn't tell one from the other but each sentence stabbed just as deeply as the next. Running across her mind at unpredictable times. Again, haunting her at every moment.

" _I'll be right back."_

" _Jessica's alive."_

" _I step off the Lifeboat and I get a text from my dead wife."_

" _She's real, Lucy. Her hair is a little different, it's shorter, but her eyes are the same. Last time I saw those eyes, she was dead."_

" _Lucy, I'm so sorry."_

" _Yeah, but you and me…"_

" _I'm sorry."_

" _Look, I'm sorry, I know this is really weird. But I didn't have a choice."_

" _Jessica's giving me a second chance, and she said it was cause of you."_

" _I have no regrets."_

She told him she didn't either. Was that true? Honestly, she didn't know anymore. But it was what he wanted to hear. It would get her out of that hallway and into her room where she could be alone. Where he wouldn't be looking at her with those damn expressive eyes. She expected that to be the end of it. When she said she'd see him around the bunker, she meant in passing or on missions. But he didn't seem to understand that. He kept finding his way into her space. He kept trying to be her shoulder to lean on. Like nothing had changed.

The ring on his finger very much indicated otherwise.

As did the additional person in the bunker.

Lucy tried to make Jessica feel welcome, especially since she'd convinced her to stay. Which meant not leaving the room when she entered, even though the urge was strong. Not because she didn't like Jessica but because Jessica was a painful reminder of what Lucy would never have. But she stuck it out. Every time. She learned more little things about Wyatt overhearing Jessica share a story with Rufus or Jiya than she had the entire time she'd known the soldier. Things he never offered up to her. Why would he? He was always waiting on Jessica to come back, wasn't he? _Jessica_ already knew it all.

Lucy dipped her head under the shower spray one last time. She couldn't stay here forever, even though it was really her only refuge from the rest of the bunker.

Rufus barely talked to her anymore, barely looked at her, unless they were on a mission. She supposed it was awkward having to deal with two of your friends being ex-lovers or a one night stand or whatever the hell she and Wyatt were. But she could really use her friend. She also knew he had a lot going on with Jiya, and Mason too for that matter, so she cut him some slack. They all had problems to deal with. She couldn't expect people to hold her hand.

Jiya had been wonderful. But Jiya was also having issues with Rufus and her visions at alternative intervals so Lucy didn't want to put her troubles off on her. Agent Christopher was her boss, though one she greatly respected, and talking to her about Wyatt felt wrong. Not to mention Jiya and Agent Christopher now never knew Wyatt was ever available. She knew Jiya said she hadn't judged her for being with Wyatt but what if Agent Christopher did? No, she couldn't do that.

So, Lucy kept it all between her and the bottle of vodka under her cot. Just a glass before bed so her swirling thoughts and Wyatt's haunting words quieted enough for sleep.

She turned off the water, wrapped the towel around her, and then stood in front of the sinks and the mirrors. She took in her tired eyes and whiter than usual skin and realized she looked like a shell of herself. Or at least who she used to be before all of this. Her eyes fell from the mirror and noticed a cracked tile on the wall. She narrowed her eyes on it thoughtfully.

Why had she never noticed it before? Where had it come from? She reached out and ran her fingers over it. Feeling the grooves and the cracks and the places where the tile had broken completely. This bunker was old, but none of the other tiles were cracked. This wasn't wear and tear. It was done deliberately. She didn't know why but her eyes kept being drawn to it as she dressed and brushed her teeth and tried to do something with her hair. Not that it mattered. Unless they jumped, where was she going to go?

She removed the chair once she was dressed in case anyone else needed the sinks and then started to try and find a way to hide her ghostly complexion. But again, her eyes and hands were pulled down to that cracked tile.

What was it about that tile that called to her? Her fingers traced it again and wondered about the story behind it. Would she ever know?

"I, um, I did that."

She spun immediately to face the voice. She knew who it was before her eyes met the deep blue ones that haunted her dreams. "You did? Why? When?"

Wyatt swallowed thickly and shrugged, the towel on his shoulder fell slightly. "You were missing," he said as he took a deep breath. "No one would let me go look for you. They all kept telling me you might be dead. The anger had to go somewhere. The tile was just the most convenient victim."

"Didn't that hurt?" She asked with a furrowed brow.

He chuckled bitterly. "Like hell. But...well, at least when it hurt I felt _something_. You know?"

Did she know?

 _At least when it hurt I felt something…_

Of course she knew. She was going through that now.

Lucy nodded because she didn't know what words she could reply with. She didn't really know what to do with that confession either. He had been so worried over her that he had to hurt himself? To make himself bleed? For her? That did not compute with their current situation. She could picture Wyatt flying into a rage over Jessica, she'd seen it first hand. But her? No way. And even at that, punching a wall was not risking imprisonment at a government black site. It's not like he'd gotten court martialed for her or anything. He had been worried and angry.

Any friend would have been too.

Except apparently all of hers had assumed she was dead.

She didn't know what to do with that either.

In that moment she remembered their last interaction. He had tried to talk to her like they used to. He had asked about the mission but really what he wanted was to know what she felt and what she thought. He wanted to listen to her talk. No more, no less. He had done that _before_ on a particularly bad night. When he remembered Syria, when he remembered when she was missing, when he remembered his father, _when he remembered Jessica_. They would sit and he would listen. Maybe he would add something to the conversation if he felt particularly open, but usually he would watch her, gravitate toward her, _take her in_. She used to love it. It made her feel useful, valued, _special._

But now it threatened to crush her with sorrow. That couldn't be her anymore. He had a wife. _That woman_ should be his wife. He should sit in their room with Jessica and take her in instead. Listen to her talk. Be with her. _His wife_.

"Lucy." His voice was hoarse and pained as he spoke. "Please just talk to me."

She shut her eyes tight and turned her back to him. "What do you call this?"

"You know what I mean. Talk to me like it matters. Like _we_ matter."

"I...can't do that anymore, Wyatt. You can't ask that of me," Lucy said with a shaky inhale of breath. "You have Jessica. She can talk to you now. She _should_ talk to you now. She's your wife."

"But _you_ are my best friend."

The words shouldn't have hurt. He didn't mean for them to hurt. _But good god_ it felt like she had been shot in the heart.

"I can't be anymore. You _know_ that."

"No, I don't know that. Why can't you be my best friend?"

"Because your wife and your best friend should be the same woman," Lucy said with a huff. "And _I'm not_ your wife, am I?"

"Luce."

No. No, he did not. He can pull out Babydoll, and Professor, and ma'am all he wants but "Luce" is a bridge too far. The first time he called her that he had practically moaned it against her lips and then proceeded to whisper it all over her heated body for the rest of the night. He _knew_ what it did to her. He had no right to use it against her _now_.

His hand was on her arm then, turning her to face him, and for a split second the grimey bathroom fell away and they were bathed in the warm glow of the fire in Hedy's guest house. His eyes met hers and she saw the familiar heat behind them and the tell-tale way those blue pools of his drifted between her lips and her eyes. She allowed herself to imagine letting him close the distance between them. She indulged a fantasy for just a moment but as soon as he began to actually lean in she wrenched her arm from his grip.

He looked surprised at first and then ashamed. She watched him shut his eyes tightly as his brow crinkled and his face pinched in a way that _hurt her_. He was in pain and she felt that pain _with him_. He hung his head and his shoulders slumped and she heard a loud shaky exhale.

"I'm sorry," he said as he finally looked up again. He didn't step toward her or reach for her. He stayed firmly planted right where he was. "I—just then when I—I shouldn't have done that."

" _No,"_ Lucy spat angrily. "You shouldn't have." Just because she felt his pain didn't mean she wasn't _pissed_. "While we're at it, please _never_ call me 'Luce' again. You and I are not the people we were to each other in 1941, Wyatt, and that nickname—that nickname belonged to them. It should stay in that guest house with the two of them."

"I miss you."

She barely heard him say it and she wished she hadn't heard it at all. She missed him too, but he wasn't hers to miss anymore and _she_ wasn't his.

"This isn't going to work," Lucy said through a tense jaw. "You made a choice. You wanted to fix your marriage. Go fix it and leave me alone. _Please_."

"What if I'd rather fix _us_ instead?"

The question was posed so hesitantly as if he knew he shouldn't express the thought, but couldn't stop himself.

"There's no longer an _us_ for you to fix, Wyatt. Let it go. For the sake of your marriage and the sake of my heart, _let us go_ ," She pleaded while gathering her things.

She had to get out of that bathroom. She couldn't look at him anymore. She needed her vodka and her cot—no, wait, couch. She offered to let Rufus take her spot in Jiya's room tonight. She would sneak back into her room and grab the vodka and then go pass out on the couch. She would forget Wyatt Logan even existed. She would forget that she felt all alone and suffocated in this hellhole. She would just...forget.

She pushed passed him to briskly leave the bathroom and he didn't stop her. He didn't call out after her. He did nothing. It was a small mercy, but she would take what she could get at the moment.

After nearly finishing off one glass of Vodka, Lucy realized sleep wasn't in the cards for her tonight. She also kept replaying Flynn's request to get to know her. Why shouldn't she let him? What was stopping her? Besides all the time Garcia Flynn spent trying to kill them, that is. She had questions for him too. Not only that, but…

She needed a goddamn friend and he was offering to be one.

Yes, decision made. She couldn't talk to Rufus, wouldn't put that on Jiya, Christopher was her boss, and she didn't really know Mason. She needed a friend and Flynn was available and willing.

Why the hell not, right?

Flynn smiled knowingly and let her in. She sat on his cot and opened the bottle, took a swig, and then offered it to him. He nodded and accepted the bottle from her but didn't drink.

"What happened with you and Wyatt _this_ time?" He asked.

"What makes you think I'm here because of Wyatt?"

"Because I heard him stomping past my door about half an hour ago. The only thing, aside from myself, to cause that kind of reaction in him _is you_ ," Flynn told her with a smirk. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I made sure of it," Lucy told him with a roll of her eyes.

"Did you want something to happen?" Flynn asked. He didn't ask like he needed an answer, though. He asked like it was a foregone conclusion.

She grabbed the bottle back from Flynn and took a long sip before she answered. "Yes."

"You know, you _can_ fight for what you want," Flynn told her. "That wouldn't make you a villain."

"I'm not going to be the person who messes this up for Wyatt. I refuse to be the reason he doesn't try with Jessica," Lucy said with a sigh. "Besides, he's wanted her for much longer than he's wanted me. He'll get over it eventually." She handed Flynn the bottle back and waved dismissively at him. "He'll forget he ever wanted me, as he should."

Flynn scoffed and spoke up sarcastically. "Sure, he will. He'll forget he wants you just as soon as he forgets how I took you from him after we killed David Rittenhouse."

Lucy winced at the memory and slid away from him by a few inches. He noticed her movement and seemed apologetic. Like he had in the car earlier. The minute she moved he put the bottle to his lips.

"You underestimate yourself, Lucy," Flynn told her after a moment of heavy silence. "You underestimate the impression you leave in your wake."

"Are we still talking about Wyatt?" Lucy asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yes and no," Flynn admitted. "You're a formidable woman. Brilliant, strong, determined. You don't back down. And, for people who are as broken as myself and Wyatt Logan, those things force us to believe we can do and be better. They force us to believe in you. To care about you."

For the second time that night, she didn't know what to do with the information she was given. Two different men, though similar creatures who went down two different paths, both surprised her tonight.

"He won't forget," Flynn told her when she didn't respond to his confession. "Trust me."

She bit her bottom lip and considered Flynn's words. He wouldn't, would be? Wyatt Logan would continue to watch her and pine as long as they were stuck in the bunker together. If she's being honest, so would she. Shared proximity was going to kill his marriage and shatter her heart. She couldn't let either of those things happen. Jessica made Wyatt happy, Lucy would not be what took that from him.

"He would. I would. _If_ one of us could _get out_ of this tin can," Lucy told him. "I need distance."

"If JFK can escape," Flynn said with a grin. "Then I imagine you could too."

"Sure, but the minute I do I'm dead or captured. I have nowhere to go and Rittenhouse wants me dead," Lucy said as she felt hot angry tears sting her eyes. She refused to let them fall. She was trapped here and that's all there was to it.

"I _might_ be able to help you with that. If that's _really_ what you want?" Flynn offered reluctantly.

"How?"

Wait, could this actually happen? Could she really leave the bunker? Maybe she could make a fresh start somewhere else? Be someone besides Lucy Preston? It was too good to be true.

"I lived off the grid for a year while I planned to steal the Mothership. I know how to live unnoticed. Plus, I still have a few undiscovered safe houses out there. Places where you could be safe and above ground," Flynn told her.

Safe and above ground. That sounded wonderful.

"Why would you offer that to me?" She asked him suspiciously.

"Wyatt isn't the only person in this bunker who deserves happiness." Flynn said with a tired sigh as if he were tired of encouraging her already. "If you think leaving will make you happy then I can help."

She was so close to throwing her arms around him in the kind of hugs usually saved for Rufus or Wyatt. If it wasn't for the memory of his grip bruising her wrist as he dragged her toward the Mothership, she might have. She was about to say yes and ask how he thought they should begin planning when she remembered…

 _Keynes_.

Her hope instantly deflated.

"I can't leave before we take out Keynes. We're already in the middle of that fight. I can't abandon it."

"Well, I'm leaving the offer on the table," Flynn said with a decisive nod. "If you change your mind, it's there."

It took two weeks for Lucy to change her mind.

They had Keynes on the run, close to defeating him. She found some strange kinship with Flynn in the midst of it. There was an edge of attraction to it but Lucy stayed clear of it. One man who loved a dead wife was enough. She would not fall for two. Not only that, but she was still working through her past with Flynn on a daily basis. It was hard enough being friends with him after knowing what his hands around her throat, in an attempt to strangle her, felt like. Regardless of that, though, talking to him allowed her to feel and sleep better. She was feeling more like herself than she had in a long time.

So, of course, something had to ruin it.

Well, _someone_ more accurately.

The firm hand under her elbow and the familiar calluses she felt on that hand told her exactly who was pulling her into the bunker bathroom before she ever saw his face.

"So, what, you and Flynn are best buddies now?" Wyatt asked harshly.

No greeting, no preamble, just jealousy and resentment. She had been in such a good mood before this. She had been ignoring Jessica and Wyatt and succeeding. Yes, her heart was still broken but she could feel parts of it healing little by little. Space and distance were always good for a healthy dose of perspective.

But now her good mood was gone.

She sighed tiredly and leaned against the bathroom wall.

"It's really none of your damn business what Flynn and I are, Wyatt," Lucy said in a huff.

Her words weren't flippant or biting. They were resigned and dripping with exhaustion. She couldn't live in this purgatory of a relationship with Wyatt anymore. It was too hard. Every little piece of progress she earned was quickly dashed by the overwhelming confusion in Wyatt's heart. She knew he was conflicted. She didn't fool herself into thinking he wasn't. But it wasn't because he really wanted her over Jessica. It was because they had been so close when they both needed someone. It was because of old wounds and common ground and an understanding that had changed both of them for the better. Not _love_. Not for him.

"None of my business?" He asked with a glare. "Lucy, we fought Flynn for the better part of a year. He held a gun to your head, sold you out to freaking Nazis, trapped us in the Alamo, taunted you with that bullshit journal, stranded us in 1754, _took you from me_ because you saved a kid's life, led Rufus and I straight to that bastard HH Holmes _who he paid to take us out_ -"

"I get it!" Lucy yelled when it was clear Wyatt had no intention of stopping. "Believe me, I remember all of it as clearly as you do. Being friends with him isn't easy, but I'm...I'm enjoying it." If he wanted to talk about this then she was going to to tell him the truth. Pull no punches. "I can talk to him about anything and I never have to read between the lines. I know where I stand with him, at all times. Yes, okay, when he touches me I'm reminded of the awful things he did to hurt us, but he knows that. He hasn't forgotten and I can tell he regrets it. So _yes_ , Wyatt. Flynn and I are friends now. You need to deal with that because friends are few and far between these days and I'm not turning my back on him simply because you want me to."

Wyatt was staring at her with shock and hurt and something else in his eyes. Something she couldn't read. He was quiet for a long time and finally Lucy gave up and reached for the chair so she could leave him to resolve whatever emotions he had on his own time. She had a hand on the chair when he finally spoke again.

"He-you _let_ him touch you?"

The question was stuttered and spat out like poison. The implication of what Wyatt thought she meant hung in the air. She had mentioned Flynn touching her, yes, but she meant a touch to the arm or the hand, something innocent that came from friendship.

But that's not what Wyatt heard.

Her first instinct was to correct him but then she thought...why should she?

She chuckled bitterly and shook her head at him. "Out of everything I just said to you, _that's_ what you're focusing on? I don't know what you want from me. Do you want me to just mope around the bunker and wait for you while you get your shit together? How did you picture this going with Jessica back in your life? Did you think I would always be hopelessly devoted Lucy Preston at your beck and call for whenever _you_ need me? That line of thinking is beneath you, Wyatt. You're better than that."

She saw the moment on his face where realization dawned over him. He grimaced and sucked in a sharp breath, eyes instantly turning apologetic. He opened his mouth, probably to apologize, but she was done. She couldn't listen to him apologize one more time.

She ripped the chair away from the door and pulled the door open so hard it slammed against the wall.

"Don't bother apologizing," she told him. "You've done enough of that recently. It's not working anymore."

She stormed out of the bathroom and down the hall, banged on Flynn's door until he answered. She knew Wyatt had followed her. She could feel his eyes burning a hole into her back. Flynn saw him too if the concerned glance he gave her and then the smirk he flashed over her shoulder was any indication.

"We need to talk," she told him. "I've changed my mind."

Flynn's eyes widened and he nodded. He stepped back to allow Lucy into the room and then waved at Wyatt before closing the door.

"Do you have to taunt him like that?" Lucy asked with a small grin.

"I'm trapped in this hellhole with people who wanted me dead this time last year. I have to find my fun somewhere."

Honestly, it was a fair point. She couldn't really argue.

"So," Flynn said with a curious expression. "You've changed your mind?"

"I can't stay here," Lucy said with a shake of her head. "It's not going to work. Wyatt and I will make each other miserable until there's nothing left between us but disdain and I can't let that happen. I need you to break me out."

Flynn smirked and nodded. "Then consider it done. When are we doing this?"

"As soon as we take out Keynes. One he's gone, so am I," Lucy told him as she took in a fortifying breath.

She could do this. She could leave the little she had left in this world behind and start over. She could and would forget him.

She refused to let Wyatt Logan haunt her anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So here is the rest of Lucy's POV. One more chapter to go! Next chapter is the Lyatt reunion! Hopefully, you like this chapter! I want to thank all my girls in the Angst Brigade for being so lovely about helping me with this! You're the best!

Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

 _They say time is the only healer_

 _God, I hope that isn't right_

 _'Cause right now I'd die to not remember_

 _Every little thing_

 _I remember every little thing_

 _The high, the hurt, the shine, the sting_

 _Every little thing_

 _I remember every little thing_

 _I'm haunted by the memories of_

 _Every little thing_

" _Every Little Thing" by Carly Pearce_

* * *

Lucy felt free.

Keynes was gone. She was seven hours away from the bunker. No pitying stares were being pointed at her. No more watching Wyatt twist himself into knots over his feelings for both her and Jessica. No more _twisting herself_ into knots over her feelings for him. No more time travel. No more Rittenhouse. No more mother who claimed to love her but would never choose her.

From now on she was free to be the person she wanted to be and not the person other people needed her to be.

She had almost backed out, but just as she almost sprinted to the room she shared with Jiya, Flynn set off the perimeter alarm.

"It's now or never, Lucy," Flynn exclaimed over the alarm. "Time to decide. Go through with it or fess up to your friends about what we've been planning. You choose."

Her hands trembled the entire time she climbed that ladder to the surface. But not anymore. She had no doubts now. She made the right call. She needed a break from her own life before she completely lost herself. She wanted to look in the mirror and recognize her own face again. If she had to leave her friends and break a few laws to do it then so be it.

"We'll have to ditch this car and walk the rest of the way," Flynn told her as he pulled off the road and into the woods. He carefully maneuvered the stolen truck through the trees, stopping just far enough off the road so the vehicle couldn't be seen.

"Walk?" Lucy asked. "How far?"

"You've walked farther. You'll be fine."

He was wrong. She hadn't walked farther. And thanks to how far away they usually parked the Lifeboat on missions, she had walked pretty far in her lifetime. What made it worse was the fact that the walk involved climbing. If she had any doubts about this safe house being secluded, she didn't any more. They finally reached a long gravel driveway and at the end of it was a small cabin.

Once inside, it looked even smaller. It had three rooms total. A small kitchen, a bathroom, and then one large central room. That room contained a small four seat table, a full sized bed, a pull out couch, an old heavy television set, and a well worn armchair. It was fit for one, maybe two. It had a rustic stone Fireplace on one wall that appeared to be a working one.

Flynn pointed to it. "We'll have to teach you how to start a fire. There's no central air or heat here."

"What about firewood?" She asked.

"I'm not letting you swing an axe around me, Lucy. It's bad enough that I have to teach you to shoot," Flynn said with a teasing grin. "There's a general store at the bottom of the mountain. You can buy firewood from them when you need it."

She set her duffel bag down on the bed and looked around. It was sparse but cozy. She could get used to it. "Does that general store have groceries?"

Flynn nodded. "Not a huge selection, but certainly the necessities."

"And how do I get there? Walk?" She asked with a quirked brow and a hand on her hip.

Flynn rolled his eyes at her. "There's a truck in the garage. Do you know how to drive stick?"

"Are you serious?" Lucy asked with raised brows. "Why would I have ever learned that?"

"Right," Flynn said with a chuckle. "I may be here longer than I thought."

It took two weeks for Flynn to feel Lucy was sufficiently prepared to survive on her own. He had even given her a brief first aid course in addition to the other things he thought she needed to know. They set up traps in the woods around the cabin that would alert her to any unwelcome visitors. She had a solid plan in the event that Rittenhouse found her unexpectedly.

Flynn was ready to leave and return the way they came. He kept an eye on the truck they had stolen and knew it was still there.

She followed him out the front door of the cabin and stopped at the edge of the porch.

"You don't have to leave, you know," Lucy told him. "You could stay."

"No, I can't," he told her. "My mission isn't over. Not until Rittenhouse is gone and my girls are alive again."

She nodded with an understanding glance and felt a twinge of guilt in her heart. Her hand drifted to her locket. Flynn noticed.

"Your mission isn't over either, you know," he said with scolding stare.

"I know," Lucy answered softly. "I don't plan to stay here forever. I just…need time. I need to take a moment to breathe and refocus. Once I've done that, I'll go back. For Amy. To snuff out Rittenhouse." Speaking of, she thought, as she pulled a letter out of her pocket. "That's a list of trustworthy experts the team could consult," she said as she placed the list in his hand. "Christopher will need that."

"I'll make sure she gets it."

"And—if I know them like a think I do—they're looking for me. I need you to tell them to stop," Lucy asked. "I've made my decision and for now this is how it has to be."

Flynn scoffed. "I'm not sure they'll listen to me, but I will tell them." Flynn paused and then gave her a thoughtful glance. "Anything you want me to tell your Wyatt?"

"He's not my Wyatt, for one," Lucy told him with a glare. "And two, I'm not sure what else there could be to say."

"I don't know," Flynn said with a secretive grin. "That you love him, perhaps?"

"Don't you dare tell him that," Lucy sneered in a harsh whisper. "He needs to focus on Jessica. Not me. If you tell him that it will ruin everything."

"So, you're not denying it."

"You wouldn't have believed me if I did, so what would be the point?" Lucy asked him with a roll of her eyes.

"You know, this is where it gets difficult, don't you? Being alone with your memories and having no distractions can play tricks on you, Lucy. I know from experience. Being alone won't be as peaceful as you think," Flynn warned her.

"It can't play anymore tricks on me than being trapped in that tin can with heartbreak and time travel," Lucy told him with a sigh. "I'll be fine."

"If you say so," Flynn said with a shrug.

He started to walk away but she called him back. He had gone out of his way to help her. The reasons were still unknown to her and she wondered if it really was as simple as him wanting her to be happy. He gave her an expectant look and she gave him a warm smile in return.

"Thank you, Flynn," Lucy told him with a wave goodbye. "For everything."

"You're welcome," he told her with a nod. "I hope you find what you're looking for out here. I really do."

She watched him disappear into the woods before going back inside and closing the door behind her. The cabin was quiet. It was the most quiet she had experienced since being held captive by Rittenhouse. Some days there were nothing _but_ silence. Memories she had long since repressed were beginning to surface and she shut her eyes tight. Was this what Flynn had been talking about? Was it starting already? No, _no_. She would not let her fresh start be bogged down by baggage so soon. She refused. She willed the memories away and opened her eyes.

She could do this.

She successfully kept herself busy for the rest of the day, slept through the night and into the morning, and made herself breakfast without one reminder of Rittenhouse. It wasn't until she was sitting quietly and reading a book that her mind decided to play another game.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and mentally flipped through the locations Flynn had hidden guns. What was that? Did she dare look up?

 _She did._ But she wished she hadn't.

Because leaning against the door frame of the kitchen was a sheer spectral image of Wyatt Logan. Drinking coffee and smirking, as if he had just been waiting for her to notice him. It had barely been one day and she was already going insane.

She groaned miserably and glared at him. "Go away."

He didn't move from his spot. He did, though, switch from smirking at her to grinning broadly. Which meant this ghostly image of Wyatt had heard her, but refused to acknowledge her request. _Typical_.

Trying to escape him was going to be harder than she thought.

She kept seeing him for the rest of the week. Always watching her, waiting patiently, as if needing to talk. But she refused to give her imaginary Wyatt any attention. She did not need him here. She was fine without him. If she ignored him, he would go away.

But he didn't and sometimes it was worse. Sometimes the image was of both him and Amy together. She had seen them playing cards at the table at least twice. Again, as if they were waiting on her. Finally, there came a day where she couldn't take it anymore. She threw a plate at the both of them.

"Leave me alone!"

The plate sailed right through them both and shattered against the wall. They didn't even look up.

She was going to have to find tasks to keep her busy. While picking the plate up off of the dingy hardwood floor she realized the finish was damaged in quite a few places. Maybe improvements on the cabin would be a good place to start?

She took off for the general store, nearly stalling the truck several times along the way. The manual transmission on the truck was her worst enemy in all of this. She hated driving stick. _Hated it_.

While rushing to the counter, once inside the tiny store, she had almost plowed someone over. She stumbled into them but they caught her easily and steadied her with callused hands under her elbows. It felt eerily familiar. She opened her eyes, half expecting to find deep pools of blue looking back at her, but was pleasantly surprised by the bright green irises she found instead.

These new eyes raked over her face in amusement before she heard a deep chuckle and felt his hands release her arms.

"Where's the fire?" The stranger asked with a grin.

He was tall and broad shouldered with dark brown hair that was cut short. He was no doubt considered handsome by most. The sheer image of Wyatt Logan that still haunted her cabin was forgotten for the moment as she returned his grin.

"No fire," She told him with a blush. "I'm just a klutz, is all."

"You sure?" He asked with a quirked brow. "You seem to be in a rush."

"Well, I am. I'm in a rush to find something to do. I'm going to go crazy in my cabin all by myself," she said before she could think to filter her words. His eyes just looked so eager and earnest, as if there was nothing he'd rather be doing than talking to her.

He nodded in understanding and smirked at her. He had no half moon dimples and his eyes didn't hold the same mirth as the reckless hothead she was doing her best to forget. It was honestly a relief.

"Been there," he told her. "That's usually when I fix something that doesn't need fixing. Last time I repaired this bike I found in my garage that I think belonged to the prior owner of my house. It definitely wasn't mine. What did you decide on?"

She bit her bottom lip and continued to blush. How did he know? "Um, my floors. I was thinking I might paint them."

His eyebrows rose and he laughed softly. "Okay, that's...different, but, you know, do what makes you happy," he said as he held out a hand to her. "Deacon. You are?"

Oh crap, who was she? Lucy Preston was not an option. No one could know her name in case Rittenhouse came looking for her. Why hadn't she worked that out with Flynn while he was here? She said the first name she could think of.

"Um, Juliet," she said quickly as she shook his hand. Juliet? She just had to use an alias she created for a mission, didn't she? Sometimes she hated the way her brain worked.

"Well, Juliet," Deacon said with a warm smile as their handshake ended. "Dan, the owner, is a friend of mine. He'll help you order whatever you need. You ever painted a floor before?"

"No," she admitted with a chuckle. "Can't say I have."

"Ah, okay," he said with a nod. "You mind if I help you?"

Her eyes widened at the implications of that request. Was he hitting on her? Was he trying to catch her with her guard down? Was he really who he said he was? What if he was Rittenhouse?

Her face must have looked panicked because he immediately held up both hands in a gesture of innocence.

"Whoa," he said with an apologetic smile. "I just meant help you order your supplies and offer you advice. I'm not inviting myself over. I promise. You just look like you could probably use a friend. It's not easy being new in this town. Plus I used to be in the remodeling and construction business. It was a family thing," he told her with a shrug. "No ulterior motive. I promise."

What harm could it really do? Besides, she didn't know anything about painting a floor and he did. It's not like accepting his advice meant she had to tell him her life story or anything. She gave him a sheepish grin and nodded. "Sure, that would be great."

He walked her to the counter and helped her request from Dan all the items she would need. A week later they came in and when she came to pick them up, Deacon was there. Smiling and holding out a coffee. She stared at it hesitantly before glancing up at his soft, patient expression.

"It's just coffee, Juliet. I promise."

So she took it. She took the coffee and they sat outside at a picnic table and talked. It was all unimportant chatter. She told him she was a teacher who just needed a break from the classroom. She told him about Amy like she still existed. Like she wasn't gone and never had been. He told her about his ailing grandmother and how that originally brought him to the area about two years ago and about his childhood home in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It wasn't much different to Oregon, he said. The coffee was good, the conversation was light, and his green eyes found hers more often than they probably should have. She knew she shouldn't, but...she liked him.

He seemed honest and uncomplicated.

She invited him over to help her paint the floors a few days later.

It turned out he was her nearest neighbor. His cabin was just less than five miles from her own.

When it was all said and done, they stood in the kitchen and admiring their handy work. Deacon nudged her shoulder and winked at her.

"You see, teach, it's not a bad idea to let someone help you every now and then, is it?"

While turning to look up at him she spotted her imaginary Wyatt standing in the middle of the freshly painted den. He gave her a sad smile and a shrug as if to tell her he was still waiting. What was he waiting on? Why wouldn't he just go away?

"Jules?" Deacon asked with a furrowed brow. "You awake?"

She shook herself and tore her eyes away from imaginary Wyatt. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. Just trying to picture what it looks like with all the furniture back in place."

"It's going to look great. We did a good job. Trust me."

Strangely enough. She did trust him. She wasn't sure why.

The next time she saw him, she'd been stuck on the side of the road. She hated driving stick. She wasn't any good at it. The truck went off the road. There was no damage but it was stuck in a ditch. She huffed and kicked the tires just as Deacon pulled up in his car. A beautiful restored classic Ford mustang. It looked like it had been pulled right off the factory floor in whatever year it had originally been made. Wyatt would have loved it.

She bit her lip at that thought. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. She glanced back at the truck and found her hologram Wyatt sitting in the truck bed. He smirked secretively and waved. She could read his expression even if he wasn't real. If he were there he could get her out of this. But he wasn't and he couldn't.

Deacon seemed willing, though.

"We really gotta get you something easier to drive, teach," he said with a laugh. "Come on, I'll give you a ride home. We'll call a tow."

The next day, a lemon yellow bike with a floral basket on the front was left on her porch. Inside the basket was an invitation to dinner. She shouldn't be letting him win her over so easily. Not when she knew her heart was firmly attached to someone else. But a part of her desperately wanted to enjoy his company. His face was expressive and while he never really talked about anything important, he didn't seem to need to. He was quiet and comforting. She turned to go back inside her cabin and jumped when the ghost of Wyatt Logan was standing right behind her.

He shook his head at her in disappointment.

"What?" She asked with a huff. "You made your choice. I have to live with it. And, besides, he's nice."

He quirked a brow and then smirked just slightly. ' _Only nice, huh?'_ his lips moved but no sound came out. She knew what he said all the same.

"Even my imaginary version of you is an ass," she muttered as she walked straight through him and closed the cabin door behind her. This was getting old.

For dinner he cooked at her place. Even made her help. He didn't seem to mind when she burnt the garlic bread and then dropped it on the floor. He gave her a crooked smile and shrugged.

"It was empty carbs anyway," he told her with a chuckle.

At the end of the night, he leaned in for a kiss and she turned her head at the last minute. His lips caught her cheek and she felt him grin against her skin. His hands rubbed absently over her upper arms as he leaned toward her ear.

"My fault. I knew you weren't ready for that," he whispered. "I know you're on the run from something. I've run away a few times myself. Whatever it was, it was complicated, wasn't it?"

Her eyes watered at the compassion in his tone and she nodded slowly. Her words would surely fail her if she tried to respond.

"You're still getting over it?" He asked as she felt his lips over the shell of her ear.

She nodded again.

"Take all the time you need, Jules," he told her. "I know you have your secrets, and I'm not going to pry but...I like you. I would like a chance to make you happy. I think I could, you know?"

"What if I'm not ever 'over' it?" Lucy asked as she finally found the emotional clarity to speak. Her eyes landed on the sheer image of Wyatt Logan leaning against her porch railing before she continued. "What if it never goes away?" What if _he_ never goes away?

"Even at that, you'd still deserve to be happy," Deacon told her. "And I like a shot at being a part of that, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He released her and then started down the steps, right next to wear Wyatt was currently leaning. She glared at Wyatt for a moment before calling out after Deacon.

He turned and smiled affectionately at her. "Yeah, teach?"

"My back patio has a couple of rotted places. I was thinking of replacing the wood. Would you mind-"

"You don't even have to ask," Deacon replied with a grin. "I'll be here bright and early in the morning. We'll take your truck to go pick up supplies from town."

She beamed at him and nodded. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, ma'am."

Her smile fell as soon as his back was turned and the vision of Wyatt on her porch smirked knowingly. Why couldn't Wyatt Logan just leave her alone? She left the bunker to let him have his happiness. She should be allowed to have hers.

The next morning when Deacon knocked on her door, Lucy gave him a sheepish glance.

"I need to ask you to do something for me."

"Okay," Deacon said with a wary glance.

"Don't call me ma'am," she said with a sad sigh. "I would explain why but I just don't think-"

"It has to do with whatever it is you're running away from, doesn't it?" He asked knowingly.

She let out a relieved breath and nodded.

"Then no explanation needed. I won't do it again," Deacon promised. His serious face gave way to a supportive smile before he nodded to her truck. "Come on, let's go. I'll drive."

A couple days later when they finished repairing her back patio, she watched him quietly. He assessed every inch of their work to make sure it was solid. Even jumped up and down on one corner. The look of concentration on his face was completely adorable.

"How did we do?" Lucy asked.

"Pretty damn good if I do say so myself," he told her.

"You know, if I keep you around this place may actually be livable," she replied with a grin.

"Well, if that's not a reason to keep me around then I don't what is," he said with a chuckle.

Lucy smiled flirtatiously and shrugged. "I could think of a few others."

He quirked a brow at her curiously. "Yeah?"

"Those green eyes of yours for one," she told him as she stepped into his personal space.

"What? These old things?" He asked with a playful smirk as he pointed to his eyes.

She laughed. God, it felt good to laugh. "How understanding you are, for another."

"We all have our scars, Juliet," he told her as he reached out and held his hands in hers. "Even me. I have no right to make any demands on you. I mean, we just met and I'm in no rush. You set the pace, okay?"

His eyes were so earnest. So hopeful. And they were completely focused on her. She hadn't felt such clear intentions directed at her in months. She felt wanted and special and cared for. She missed that feeling. Missed it so much it hurt. Missed it so much that she created some hallucinated version of Wyatt Logan that followed her around. But maybe she didn't have to completely forget Wyatt Logan to enjoy her time with Deacon. Was it possible to be in love with one man while learning to care for another?

It must be. Wasn't that what happened to Wyatt with her and Jessica?

Oh god, did she want to do to Deacon what Wyatt did to her? Yes, Wyatt didn't do it on purpose. Jessica was dead and no one thought she would come back. He didn't really do it _to her_ , she knew, but it hurt nonetheless. Did she potentially want to put Deacon through that? Especially since she knew that eventually she would go back to that bunker. That was the plan, anyway.

Could she risk hurting Deacon? Was it even her decision to make?

"Deac," she said as she took in a deep fortifying breath. That was the first time she had ever shortened his name. It felt right.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"I like you," she admitted. She had to do this quickly before she changed her mind. "I really do. But the situation I just came from was complicated and a part of me is still tied to that-to _him_. I don't want to hurt you and I'm afraid that I might."

His hands traveled from hers and trailed up her arms, over her shoulders, and then finally framed her face. His green eyes regarded her with an intense warmth that she had only ever seen once before in a very different set of eyes. Goosebumps rose on her arms as he smiled slowly at her.

"I'm willing to take that risk, teach. A woman like you doesn't drop out of the sky every day, you know?"

"Really?" She asked in disbelief. "Even if I break your heart?"

His thumbs absently caressed her cheeks. "What's the point of having a heart if it doesn't ever break a little? Now, are you going to let me kiss you or would you prefer to keep going round and round on this? Because I can assure you my answer won't change."

Well, could she do anything _besides_ kiss him after that?

And what a kiss it was too. It wasn't a kiss that happened amidst the glamor of old Hollywood or while sitting across from arguably the most tragically in love couple in history. It was a kiss that happened in the present day with no one watching them in broad daylight. It was open and honest and a promise of better days to come. There were a few more kisses exchanged between them before she walked him to the door and each one was just as beautiful as the last. Her smile was genuine as she watched him drive away and it stayed with her the rest of the night.

She didn't see her imaginary Wyatt again until the next morning. She walked out on her back patio to find him pacing the width of it, testing the once weak spots as Deacon had done yesterday. His eyes met hers and they looked resigned.

"Not a single flaw, is there?" She asked him with a smirk. "You can try, but you won't find one."

He glared at her skeptically and shook his head.

"Why won't you go away?" She asked him with a tired sigh. "I left you behind on purpose."

Wyatt shook his head again and smiled sadly at her. He motioned between the two of them and silently said, " _unfinished."_

"What does that mean?" she asked.

" _You know_ ," he replied as he pointed to her heart.

He was right, she did. She never told Wyatt what she wanted. Never asked him to pick her. Never let him consider picking her. His words from one of their arguments right at the end came back to her. " _What if I wanted to fix us instead?"_ He had asked. He posed the question. She shut him down. If Deacon could make the choice to let her break his heart then why couldn't Wyatt make the choice to be with her? Why couldn't she let him do that?

She couldn't let him do that because she couldn't risk him resenting her for it later. If he chose her and then regretted it she would never forgive herself. But she still wondered…

If she had asked, what would he have said? If she had told him what she really wanted, would it have gone her way? Did she even want to know?

Did it matter at all? She wasn't in the bunker anymore. Wyatt was alone with Jessica now and she hoped things were easier for him. Things deserved to be easier for both of them.

Deacon continued to let her decide how far things progressed. The more patient he was the more she cared for him. The more she wanted to be with him. It took two weeks, just over a month after the day they met, for things to progress beyond long slow kisses. She woke up as the sunlight filtered through the blinds and found herself in an unfamiliar room. Only then did she remember where she was.

She was in Deacon's bed, snuggled comfortably into his side with his arms wrapped around her. Her naked chest against his. She placed her chin on his chest and stared up at him. Dark stubble covered his chin, she could see the tiniest bit of grey making an appearance. She noticed a scar above his eyebrow and one under his chin. There were more scars. Bigger ones that she'd seen the night before.

There was one low on his abdomen and another on his left shoulder and small ones that peppered his arms. Then there was the matter of the tattoo. He had a frog tattoo on his right shoulder, just above where her chin was currently resting. She could make out a roman numeral just below it. It seemed important, significant.

He stirred awake and then rolled onto his side to face her.

He gave her a lazy smile and tugged her closer, his hands squeezing her around the waist.

"Morning," he said in a groggy voice. "How'd you sleep, teach?"

She chuckled and bit her bottom lip before she answered. "Not very well," she answered with a playful grin. "Some guy kept waking me up."

"Yeah, but what I woke you up for was pretty great, right?" He asked with a wink. "Totally worth it?"

She laughed and nodded. "Totally worth it."

Her hand landed on the frog tattoo and she lightly caressed it. "What's this?"

"That's a frog, Jules. I thought you were a teacher?"

She smacked his shoulder lightly and rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm asking, Deac. What does it mean?"

"I was a Navy Seal," he answered with a thick swallow. "I got out. It was rewarding work but I couldn't do it forever. It took a lot out of me."

Her mind flashed to Wyatt and his desperation to stay and fight at the Alamo, the way she had desperately clutched his face, and pleaded with all she had. She saw it in his face then. The wear and tear of service and bravery. Lucy nodded and brought the back of her hand up to Deacon's face. She traced the backs of her fingers over his cheek and then kissed him slowly and deeply.

"Is that where you scars came from?" She asked as she pressed her forehead to his.

"Physically or emotionally?" He asked with a wry smirk. "Doesn't matter, the answer is the same either way." He was trying to joke, but she could see the weight of his experiences in his expression.

"I knew a Delta Force soldier," Lucy told him. "He struggled with scars too so I understand to a degree what it must be like living with those experiences, those sacrifices. So thank you," she said kissed him again. "Thank you for whatever is you did while you served."

His eyes were glossy as he smiled fondly at her, as if he were holding back tears. He kissed her soundly on the lips and then placed smaller kisses on her forehead, her temple, the crown of her head.

"I am so glad you literally ran into me at Dan's that day," Deacon said with a watery laugh. "That was the best thing to happen to me in quite a while."

"Me too," Lucy replied with a bright smile.

It was the truth. He was the bright spot in an otherwise messy year full of twists and turns and heartbreak. They both might regret this later, but for now, she planned to enjoy it. She felt more like the Lucy Preston she was before she lost everything, she felt like herself again. Now if only she could get rid of her one nagging doubt.

The one doubt that was currently sitting in an armchair in the corner of Deacon's room disguising itself as a heartbroken Wyatt Logan. How was it possible for someone she hadn't seen in a month to haunt her so vividly? Time was supposed to be a healer wasn't it? Well, how much of it did she need to be able to forget Wyatt? She saw him in everything.

In Deacon's story about leaving the Seals, in the earnest intent in his eyes, in the teasing affection behind his nicknames, and in the thoughtful little gestures he completed for her every day. She saw Wyatt in all of those things and so much more.

That train of thought hit her like a ton of bricks. She saw Wyatt in Deacon? The answer came back to her quickly. Yes, she did. They looked vastly different but their personalities were similar. The difference between them being Deacon's lack of crushing guilt and Wyatt's not-so-dead wife. Should she feel guilty for that? Should she feel awful about dating Deacon to forget Wyatt?

Yes, she should, and she did. Deacon didn't even know her real _goddamn_ name.

"Hey," he asked as he dipped his head to catch her eyes. "Jules? You okay?"

 _Jules_. Not Lucy. She wasn't Lucy here. Wasn't that what she wanted? Yes, it was. She had asked for this. For a restart and a refresh. Would all that stop if he knew the truth? Was it fair to him to keep this up? Would telling him who she really was put a target on his back? The idea of Rittenhouse hurting someone else because of her, scared her doubts away. She was lying to him to protect him and besides she wasn't lying about the important things. Just her name.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered with an encouraging smile. But the smile faltered because her earlier thoughts still plagued her. "What would you say if I told you I wasn't who I said I was?"

He chuckled. "You're running away from something. I already know you're not who you say you are."

Her brow furrowed at that. "You do?"

"You pay for everything with cash yet you never work, you rarely ever travel further down the mountain than the general store, you appeared out of nowhere in a secluded area, and you have firearms stashed in various places around your cabin. I can read the signs, teach," he told her with a grin that was tinged with sadness. "You don't need to tell me what you're running from. I've seen situations like this before and they're treacherous. The less anyone here knows about you the better. I don't want you compromising your safety. Even for me."

She smiled slowly and gave him a relieved glance. She started to speak, to thank him, but he interrupted her with a solemn expression.

"I do have one question, though," Deacon said with a sigh. "This friend of yours, who's Delta Force, is he the one that calls you ma'am?"

She swallowed thickly and looked away from him, down at his tattoo, as she answered. "He _used_ to. It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" Deacon asked. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not intentionally, but yes. It wouldn't be complicated if he didn't."

"I remind you of him, don't I?" He asked her in a knowing tone. "You think of him sometimes when you look at me." He wasn't asking. He was telling.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she closed her eyes and waited for the fallout. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said as she felt a kiss to the top of her head that was lost somewhere in her hair. "You told me exactly what I was getting into a couple weeks back. You've never misled me on that score, Juliet. You're just trying to be happy and there's not a thing wrong with that. Not a thing."

Was he right? Flynn said something similar to her once before. That she deserved to be happy too. She could fight for what she wanted. Well, what she wanted was to be happy. If Wyatt couldn't make her happy then why shouldn't she let Deacon try? There wasn't anything wrong with trying to be happy. It sounded selfish to her ears, but wasn't it about time that she did something for herself? She had given up so much of what she wanted already. What was wrong with letting herself enjoy Deacon?

Her eyes landed on her imaginary Wyatt sitting in Deacon's armchair for the second time that morning. Wyatt pointed at her and then himself and mouthed a word she recognized. A word he had said to her before. It made her chest tighten and her heart ache.

" _Unfinished."_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So, this final chapter proved to be a beast and Wyatt and Lucy did not act how I imagined they would so I had to stop and reassess how to get to the ending I had in mind. But here it is! Finally finished! Thank goodness! Hope you like it!

happy reading!

angellwings

PS - Thanks to the girls in the Angst Brigade for all their help! I couldn't have finished them with out their constant encouragement and advice!

* * *

 _So you go all kinds of crazy_

 _just thinking that she might be gone  
You go out of your mind _

_at the thought that she finally moved on  
She tells you it's over,_

 _this time she means it  
She doesn't love you,_

 _but you don't believe it  
So you go all out and _

_try to fix everything that you did wrong  
You're home all alone, _

_there's a buzz on your phone, it's her_

 _-"So You Go" by Old Dominion_

* * *

Three months. Lucy had been gone for three months. They muddled through missions with a consulting historian who never traveled with them. They won more than they lost still. Though things were a lot harder without a historian on the ground with them. The bunker felt more like a prison than it ever had before. That was probably why Wyatt spent more nights than he should on the couch with a bottle of whiskey.

He cared about the mission too much to get carried away but the whiskey somehow brought her back to him. Or at least the wispy vision of her than had run away from him a few months ago. The hazy hologram of Lucy would appear in the common area of the bunker after a couple of glasses. Taunting him. He would see her sitting at a table with a cup of tea leaning over an open book, setting out the scrabble board and arranging her letters, or laughing silently as she sat next to him on the couch wearing one of his shirts.

Things he missed by being a fucking idiot for far too long. He should have been honest with himself long before Lucy ever became so desperate to leave. He could have been honest with her once he admitted the truth to himself and then maybe she would still be there. Maybe then he would have the _real_ her instead of some buzzed fantasy that he couldn't listen to or touch. It was his own fault and he loathed himself for letting any of it happen.

He was in the middle of watching his imaginary Lucy split a deck of cards, she was wearing his sweats and sitting cross legged on the coffee table, when Flynn appeared in front of her. Blocking his view.

"What do you want, Flynn?" Wyatt asked with a low growl. "I'm kind of busy."

"Yes, I see that. Do you find wallowing productive? I ask because you seem to do quite a bit of it."

"I'm not in the mood for this so do you mind getting _the fuck_ out of my space?" Wyatt asked bitingly.

"Can't," Flynn said with a roll of his eyes. "We need to talk."

Wyatt scoffed and smirked at him. "Nah, I'm good."

" _About Lucy_ ," Flynn sneered in a whisper. "But if you would rather I let Rittenhouse find her first then—"

Wyatt was sitting on the edge of the couch and glaring at Flynn in a split second. His buzz was replaced by fear and adrenaline the minute the other man put "Lucy" and "Rittenhouse" in the same sentence.

"Cut the bullshit. What do you know?"

"Homeland Security recently made several Rittenhouse arrests in Oregon," Flynn stated.

"Yeah, So? I was briefed on that too," Wyatt asked him skeptically. "What does that have to do with Lucy?"

"Rittenhouse is in Oregon _hunting_ for Lucy," Flynn said with a frustrated sigh. "They're getting too close for my liking."

Wait, was Flynn...was Flynn telling him where Lucy was? Was he coming to Wyatt for help?

"Lucy is in Oregon?" Wyatt asked with a suspicious stare.

"Yes, Logan, do keep up," Flynn said with a long suffering sigh.

"Okay, so go get her," Wyatt said as he lifted one shoulder with feigned carelessness. Everything in him was eager to go after Lucy, but he had put his needs before her own one too many times. He wouldn't do that again. She obviously didn't want to confide in him or see him. She'd chosen Flynn instead.

" _I_ can't," Flynn told him. "Since breaking back in, Christopher has me under lock and key. Her agents follow me everywhere. Why else would I bother with coming to you in the first place? I could send Rufus but we both know he'd stumble around so much that he'd end up leading Rittenhouse right to her. And Christopher won't give Lucy a choice. She'll be right back where she started and as miserable as she was before. So, like it or not, _you_ are my only option. You've snuck out of this place before, I'm sure you can do it again."

"Give her a choice?" Wyatt asked. "What does that mean?"

"I have another safe house at Lake Almanor. If she wants to stay above ground she can go there," Flynn told him as he handed Wyatt a folded up piece of paper. "The address for the current safe house and the new one are in there. I trust you can get to her without being followed."

"If she wants to stay above ground? Why wouldn't she want to stay above ground? I'm sure whatever the hell she's doing out there beats being trapped here," Wyatt said with a roll of his eyes.

"I haven't the faintest idea, especially given my present company. Do you think you could manage to be sober when you find her?"

"You know, Lucy may trust you, but I still hate you," Wyatt told him as he took the folded up piece of paper and put it in his pants pocket.

"The feeling is mutual, believe me. The only thing you and I have in common is _Lucy_. Which is why I trust that you'll find her quickly and quietly," Flynn said with a sneer. "I suggest you make yourself some coffee, Master Sergeant. You'll need to leave as soon as possible."

Half a pot of coffee and an hour later, Wyatt was out of the bunker and hot wiring an old truck at the gas station down the road. He'd have to steal another one in the next hour or so in case the gas station's surveillance cameras caught the tag. But the truck would do for now. What was he doing? Why was he doing Flynn a favor anyway? Lucy literally ran away from him. There was no way she would want to see him, let alone let him either bring her home or take her to a new safe house. This was going to be awful.

But so was the idea of Lucy being ambushed by Rittenhouse. He couldn't let that happen. No matter how much he was dreading seeing her disappointed face when he turned up at her door, he couldn't leave her out there with a target on her back. He hurt her enough. He wouldn't let anyone else do any more damage than he'd already done.

He drove two hours before switching cars and then drove the next five hours with very few stops. Finally, he pulled into a sleepy little town tucked in between two mountains. One stop light, small town main street, and people who were staring at his car warily. Ah, small towns. Everyone knows everyone and no one knew him. They all noticed.

He drove about 40 minutes past town until he reached small general store and gas station. He went inside to pay for his gas first. He was waiting patiently for anyone to appear behind the tiny store's wooden counter, happy to have something to delay the inevitable, when he heard something familiar.

Something he never thought he'd hear again.

 _Lucy Preston's laugh._ It came from behind him and was muffled by a door but he heard it.

"You sure you don't want Sim to go up there with you and unload all that firewood?" he heard a male voice ask from behind him as he heard a door open and close. "You're clumsy as hell. I wouldn't want you hurt yourself, Jules."

"No, it's fine, I've got it this time, Dan. Deac is meeting me here. He said he would help me unload."

 _Lucy_. He knew that voice by heart even though he hadn't heard it in three months. His imaginary version of her never spoke or made a sound. His subconscious way of punishing himself, he supposed.

She leaned against the counter and he saw her eyes flick over to him in her peripherals, but she didn't react. Didn't acknowledge him at all.

"Charge it to my account? I'll settle up with you next time," she promised.

"Yep, already done."

"You're the best," Lucy said with a smile as she turned and walked straight past him to the exit.

He watched her in shock and wondered how the hell she could completely ignore him like that. He followed her outside, determined to get her to acknowledge him. She stood and waited by one of the gas pumps, twirling her keys in her hand.

He folded his arms across his chest and watched her expectantly. She couldn't ignore him forever. He took the moment to really look at her. She wore jeans and a flannel that looked a few sizes too large. It reminded him of his imaginary Lucy and they way she seemed to always appear in his clothes. Her hair was tousled in careless waves, probably the way he liked her hair best. She was beautiful, just like always.

Her eyes found his again and she sighed tiredly. "What? What do you have to say now?" She asked in a waspish tone. "You're as impossible as the _real_ Wyatt."

The real Wyatt? What was she talking about? He opened his mouth to ask but before he could a pair of arms wrapped around Lucy from behind. Those arms pulled her against a man Wyatt had never seen in his life. That man pressed a quick kiss to Lucy's lips.

"Hey, babe," he said with a wink. "Truck In the back?"

"You're soaked, Deac," Lucy said with a laugh. Another laugh. He'd heard it twice now. "Did you run here?"

His brow furrowed as he watched them. Who was this guy? Where did he come from? Wyatt watched him carefully. The man's stance and the way he would glance around occasionally told Wyatt he was special forces of some kind. He was on alert like Wyatt usually was.

"Figured I'd get my work out in," he answered before the man's eyes focused on Wyatt. He quirked a brow and then glared protectively. "Can we help you with something, man?"

Lucy's eyes widened and she tensed against the man whose arms were wrapped around her. He had wrapped his arms around her like that once. She had been trying to get dressed after they had gotten back from 1941 and he couldn't stop touching her. She had swatted him away so she could put on a shirt but she had smiled brightly the entire time. And now someone else was holding her. Someone he knew nothing about. What sort of life had she been living these last three months? How long had she been with this guy? They seemed close. Intimately close.

"You—you can see him?" Lucy asked nervously.

The man chuckled and gave her an amused glance before dropping a kiss to her temple. "Yeah, teach, I can."

 _Teach_. He even had a pet name for her? He wasn't sure his heart could break anymore than it already was, but if it could that's what it was doing now. Had he lost her completely? Was there no hope at all?

"Wyatt?" Lucy asked with a thick gulp, as if she were afraid of the truth.

He nodded and gave her a wan smile. "Yes, ma'am, it's me."

Recognition flashed across the other man's eyes and his hold on Lucy relaxed.

"You know him." It was a statement. Not a question.

"Yes," Lucy said as she took in an anxious breath and stepped out of the man's arms. "This is Wyatt, my...colleague. Wyatt, this is Deacon, my, um—my—"

Deacon reached a hand out toward Wyatt and grinned sympathetically at Lucy. "Her friend." Wyatt accepted the handshake hesitantly as Deacon continued. "You must be Mr. Delta Force."

Wyatt's brows rose and he looked from Lucy to Deacon. "She told you about me?"

"She wouldn't tell me much, but she told me _some_ ," Deacon answered.

"Well," Lucy said as she awkwardly cleared her throat. "Deacon's a former Navy SEAL so it came up. That's all."

Silence fell over the three of them then and after a prolonged pause Deacon turned to Lucy.

"So, this is weird," he said as he motioned to the three of them. "And I'm gonna go get the truck. Keys?" She nodded slowly and placed the keys in his hand. "You gonna be okay alone?" He asked as he gave Wyatt a wary glance.

"Yes," she answered with a warm smile. "Wyatt's harmless. Really."

Deacon smirked. "Well, he's Delta Force. That's a given."

Wyatt saw confusion in Lucy's eyes and she looked ready to scold Deacon but Wyatt knew what was going on. Good natured teasing between Delta Force and the Seals was a long standing tradition. If anything, it meant Deacon was trying to welcome him. So, Wyatt spoke up before Lucy could.

He grinned and chuckled at Deacon. "Yeah? I thought all you Seals do is rescue lost marines?"

Realization dawned for Lucy and she rolled her eyes at them. "Oh, I see, this is a thing, isn't it? A macho thing?"

"Something like that," Deacon told her with a light laugh. He kissed the top of Lucy's head before walking off toward the store. "Be back in a few."

Wyatt waited until Deacon was out of earshot before he spoke in a stilted hesitant voice. "So, um, he seems nice."

"He is," Lucy answered with a small soft smile. Her eyes shifted from happy to concerned and then finally to angry before she refocused on him. "What are you doing here, Wyatt? How did you find me?"

"I didn't find you," he answered with a sigh. "You didn't want us to. So I didn't. I'm here because Flynn sent me. He told me where you were."

Her brow furrowed and she huffed. "Why would he do that? That makes no sense."

"Homeland Security arrested a team of Rittenhouse agents not far from here. They're looking for you, Lucy, and they're getting close," he told her urgently.

"And Flynn thought, what? He thought that you would be the best person to convince me to go back?" Her arms were crossed and her stare was defiant. This was exactly what he expected when Flynn came to him. He knew this wouldn't go well. "No, I'm staying right here. Let them come. I'm prepared."

"You stay here and you put a Target on Deacon's back," Wyatt told her in a frustrated tone. "You know that."

"Deacon can handle himself."

"Lucy, he's a civilian in this fight. You can't bring a civilian in on this. Rittenhouse will be after the _both_ of you and they won't stop coming. Do you really want to put him through that? To throw him into another war even after he got out?" Wyatt asked her in surprise. How was she even considering staying? It wasn't safe.

"Lest you forget," Lucy said curtly. "You brought a civilian into the fight. Or do you not recall sneaking your wife into the secret bunker? How is this any different?"

He scoffed and scrubbed a hand across his face. He knew this wasn't going to be easy but how were they already fighting?

"Yeah, and that turned out real well for me, didn't it?" He asked as he held up his left hand and rolled his eyes.

Her brow furrowed and her eyes followed his hand. His hand that no longer wore a wedding band. Surprise was evident on her face.

"I— _what?_ When did that happen?" She asked in a demanding tone. "You were still married when I left!"

He took a deep calming breath and met her eyes, holding them steady as he answered her. "No, Lucy, I wasn't. You just left before I could tell you."

Her outraged posture immediately deflated. She closed her eyes and cut off their connection, as if that would keep his statement from being true. "But Jessica was there when we left for the jump."

"I signed the papers moments before the Mothership jumped. There wasn't exactly time to discuss it with you. When I got back Jessica was gone and I thought I had time—I thought I would see you in the morning and, by some miracle, you might give me another chance. Except the perimeter alarm woke me before sunrise and suddenly you were... _gone_ ," he admitted with a loud swallow. He was sure his face was contorted into an unappealing look of pain. It certainly _felt_ as though his broken heart was on display all over his face so it probably looked it too. He took a deep breath before he finally released the question that had been festering for three months. "I knew I hurt you and I hated myself for that, Lucy, but did I really fuck it up _that_ badly? Did I destroy us so completely that you couldn't stand the sight of me?"

Her eyes opened and found his again with a look of intense confusion. "What? No, Wyatt—"

There was a honk off to his right and they both turned to find Deacon pulling an old truck to a stop in front of them. Wyatt could tell in an instant that the other man saw the emotions and the tension that surrounded them. His easy smile fell and he gave Lucy a look of concern.

"Everything alright, Jules?" He asked he stepped out of the truck and walked toward them.

Could her boyfriend not have waited two more minutes? God, _boyfriend_. That's what Deacon was, wasn't he? He'd been wallowing in self pity while she had been here, falling in love with someone else. Fucking _perfect_.

"Fine," Lucy answered.

But Wyatt Logan knew better than anyone when Lucy was lying. He watched her lie to him about her own feelings for months and willed himself to be oblivious because he thought that was how it had to be. He knew the pinched way she smirked when she pretended to be _fine_. And that's what she was doing now. _Pretending_.

"You ready to go?" Deacon asked.

"Go?" Wyatt said fearfully. "Lucy, we still need to talk. I have information you need."

A panicked look flashed across her face that quickly transitioned into a scolding glare. He had no idea what he had supposedly done wrong until…

"Lucy?" Deacon asked with a bewildered expression.

 _Shit_.

Lucy huffed at him. "Follow us to the cabin," she said through gritted teeth. "I—I'll explain," she told Deacon as she motioned to the truck. "On the way."

Wyatt went back to his stolen car and then followed them up the mountain, up a long steep winding road that seemed to go on forever. He could make out their silhouettes talking with animated hand gestures as Deacon drove. Was it an argument? Or had they already gotten passed that? Were they a good couple? Did Deacon know how _brilliant_ Lucy was? How strong? How patient and frustratingly self sacrificing? Had she told him about her claustrophobia? About her sister? About skipping her prom? Or how her parents (the parents who raised her) met? Did he know things about Lucy that Wyatt didn't? Did Deacon know her better than _him_?

He picked the best goddamn time to leave the bunker and the alcohol behind. He needed a drink.

Or Lucy.

He would prefer one more than the other but, at this point, the drink seemed like a more realistic possibility. How could he compete with the life Lucy had now? Everything was simpler for her here. She looked absolutely content when Deacon first approached her. Before she had realized Wyatt was real.

Speaking of that, or thinking really. "Real Wyatt," she had said. Did she have an imaginary version of him? Were they both having hallucinations of the other? She seem to want to ignore her vision. Which was very different than him. He would stare at that vision of her all day long if he could, short of having the real thing anyway. Should that give him hope, though? If she was so accustomed to seeing an imaginary version of himself then should he allow himself to think he still had a chance? God, he wanted to still have a shot with her. He had wrongs to right and he was more than willing to do that. But would she be willing to let him? Could he ask that of her in the face of her happiness?

The idea of leaving things as unresolved as they had been for the last three months threatened to steal his breath and crush him completely. He had to tell her. He knew what her reaction would be already. Based on previous interactions his instincts told him she would try to tell him to fix things with Jessica. She would try send him back to his _ex-_ wife. This time, he absolutely would not let her. He was going to say exactly what he needed to say. What he would have said in that last fight if she had let him. " _What if I'd rather fix us instead?"_ Had only been the beginning of the words he kept hidden. He had so much more he had wanted to say but he just needed a sign from her that she would be receptive to it. He never got one.

This time he wasn't going to wait for a goddamn sign. Even if she threw him out on his ass immediately after, he was going to tell her how he felt and what he wanted. She was going to hear it. Maybe it wouldn't change anything but at least she would _know_. He would be able to say he laid it all out on the line for her. Maybe it was too late, but he was finally going to stop half-assing his love for Lucy Preston.

They finally reached the small cabin at the end of the long and winding driveway and Wyatt parked his stolen car next to a near perfectly restored 1964 and Half Mustang Coupe. One of the first Mustangs off the Ford factory floor. It was light blue and one quick peek in the window told him the interior was blue leather. He dreamed of a car like this.

"Beautiful, huh?" Deacon asked as he stepped out of the truck and walked toward him. "Restored her myself. My grandmother let it nearly fall to pieces in her garage."

"You did all this work yourself?" He asked.

Deacon nodded. "Took me a while, but yeah."

That was impressive. Damn, why did he have to actually like this guy? This would all be so much easier if he was another Noah. Noah had been hiding something. Wyatt knew that before he ever met the man and it made it so much easier to deal with whatever role that douchebag had played in Lucy's life. But Deacon seemed genuine as far as Wyatt could tell and it left him wondering if Lucy might be better off with Deacon than himself.

Wyatt could see the weariness of a life waging war in the other man's face but there was no baggage of overwhelming guilt and he didn't hold himself back the way Wyatt sometimes did. This man could make Lucy happy and he probably wouldn't leave the kind of scars Wyatt left on her either. She would be safe with him. It was Wyatt's job to protect her. Did that also mean protecting her from himself? Just a moment ago he had been convinced telling Lucy his truth was the only option but now he was second guessing himself.

Why did they always have such _awful_ timing?

"Man, I would love to be able to do that someday. To even have the spare time to do that at all is enough to make me jealous," Wyatt admitted.

Though, there was another thing Deacon had that was actually causing that nagging feeling of jealousy burning in his chest. Lucy had clearly given this man her trust and while he had no doubt she still trusted Wyatt with her life, she trusted Deacon with her heart. Once upon a time she had trusted _him_ with _both_. Deacon was a very real representation of where he currently stood with Lucy, and Wyatt _wished_ he could hate him.

"If you ever get out of the Army, maybe you will," Deacon told him with a shrug and an easy grin.

"Maybe," he said with a nod. As long as he was chasing psychos through time he knew that wasn't an option. Right now, he felt like he would never be free of time travel or Rittenhouse.

Which brought him back to why he was here. His eyes easily found Lucy as she stood on the front porch.

"We need to talk," he told her.

She nodded and sighed but said nothing.

"I'm going to go unload the firewood and then get out of your way," Deacon told them both. He walked up the steps to Lucy and kissed her quickly. "Call me later, okay?"

 _When Wyatt was gone._ He heard that implication loud and clear. Deacon seemed confident Lucy wasn't going anywhere. Wyatt wondered what they talked about in the truck. How she explained him calling her Lucy. How much had she told Deacon in order to soothe him?

"It was nice to meet you, Wyatt," Deacon said as he shook Wyatt's hand again.

"You too, man, really," Wyatt replied with a nod.

Deacon climbed back into the truck and pulled it around the back of the house, leaving Wyatt and Lucy staring at each other in awkward silence.

"So, um," Lucy said finally as she waved him toward the porch. "Come on in and we can talk about why Flynn sent you."

He didn't know what he was expecting to see after crossing the threshold into the small cabin, but the homey lived in space that greeted him only added to his unease. She made a life here. She settled in to this place and made it her own. There is no way this was the same safe house it was when Flynn left her to her own devices. This wasn't a safe house anymore. It was a home. He could hear the faint sounds of Deacon stacking wood outside. All of it assaulted his senses and the feeling that he was intruding overwhelmed him.

No wonder she didn't want to leave. She was finally happy.

And it wasn't with him.

"I'm not going back to the bunker," she stated as she made her way to the tiny kitchen.

He watched her as she put a kettle on the stove and sighed sadly. "I'm not asking you to."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Giving you your options," Wyatt said as he pulled the folded up piece of paper from his pant pocket. "Flynn has another safe house. The address is on this paper. He says you can use that if you don't want to come back to the bunker."

She took the paper from him and he was surprised to see her hand trembling. His brow furrowed in concern and he watched her shoulders sag.

"I'm not fighting them anymore," she said quietly. "Why can't they just leave me alone?"

"I'm sorry," Wyatt replied. He was. He genuinely was. She deserved to enjoy this life she carved out here. She deserved to have whatever happiness she managed to find. Even if it didn't include him.

Her golden eyes met his and he saw the same look in her eyes that he'd seen earlier - when she had started to answer his questions about why she left.

"I left _for_ us. _For you_ ," she admitted in a voice that was just barely above a whisper as she looked away from him. She spoke quietly but he could hear the tears. She refused to look at him so he couldn't see the water pooling in her lashes, but he knew they were there. "We were stuck, Wyatt. You couldn't move forward with Jessica with me around. You and I would have always gravitated together and we would have ruined each other in the middle of it. I'd rather leave then grow to resent you. So I chose to leave. For you. For me. For whatever friendship we had left. It was _never_ a question of whether or not I wanted to see you. I wanted to, but for both our sakes I _couldn't_."

That was not the answer he expected to hear. He expected anger not quiet desperation. He expected rage, but what he got was an intense sadness. He could see it in the way she was holding herself. She crushed the paper he handed her in her fist as she leaned her weight against the kitchen counter. He had a feeling that counter was keeping her upright. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her. But that wasn't his place anymore.

No matter how much he wanted it to be.

"I just assumed… **.** I assumed you hated me. I wouldn't have blamed you if you did," Wyatt told her. "I was an oblivious ass. I treated you horribly, Lucy. I should have known you needed space and I should have seen that things with us would have to change long before I did. I was stupid and inconsiderate - I'm surprised you didn't leave sooner, honestly. Bringing Jessica back to the bunker? What was I thinking? Running off without telling you - and then acting like we could still be _us_? Almost kissing you when I was still struggling with Jessica…? And cornering you about Flynn the way I did - you _should_ hate me. _I do._ "

"I could never hate you, Wyatt," Lucy answered as she took in and released a shaky breath. "No matter what happens between us, hating you isn't an option." He saw a ghost of a grin on her face as she continued. "I am very familiar with being pissed at you though. Frustrated with you, absolutely. And, yes, you broke my heart, but you didn't do it on purpose."

He closed his eyes against that last sentence. He knew he broke her heart but hearing her _say it_ made it too real.

"I'm also pretty sure my heart wasn't the only one that broke," Lucy told him softly. "You-you asked me for a chance to fix us once and I didn't even consider it. I didn't even try to hear you. We both made mistakes. We both stopped listening and stopped seeing. It wasn't just you. You have no reason to hate yourself."

He scoffed and shook his head. "I beg to differ, ma'am. I'm the reason you had to put this distance between us. I hate myself for that alone. I ruined something that was nearly perfect."

The kettle whistled and she turned the burner off. Silence fell between them and Wyatt thought back on everything Lucy had been through. Not just him, but everything. Her sister, Noah, her father, her mother… **.** How much had she lost to fight the good fight? Too much. Too goddamn much.

"You should go to the other safe house and take Deacon with you," he told her suddenly. He had the thought and he had to say it before he changed his mind. "You're right. He can handle himself and maybe...maybe he's what you need in all of this. A partner you can really trust. Someone to watch your six. I hear Seals are pretty good at that." He tried to smile during that last statement. He was certain he failed spectacularly.

She released her grip on the counter and reached out for his hand. He didn't speak, didn't move. He was afraid if he did she would retreat into herself. He kept his eyes on their joined hands as she laced their fingers together.

"I still trust you, Wyatt," Lucy admitted. "I trust you with my life. That will never change."

"But you'll never trust me with your heart again," Wyatt said with a thick swallow.

He felt tears prickling his eyes. The truth of his statement hung in the air between them. She didn't dispute it. Didn't tell him he was wrong. That fact screamed at him amidst the silence. He lost her. He really lost her. He squeezed her hand and dragged his eyes up to meet hers. Her eyes were as glassy as his own. Unshed tears pooling, waiting for the moment the dam broke.

"I told myself I was going to lay it all on the line for you," Wyatt said with a slow shuddering exhale. "That I was going to stop giving you only half of my heart. You don't want to come back to the bunker and I don't blame you. So, if this is the last time I see you then...I owe you the whole truth-"

"Wyatt-"

"No, stop. Just...listen this time, okay?" He pleaded.

She gulped, blinked owlishly at him, and nodded.

"I love you. I've known that for a while now. Probably since 1918, but I couldn't say it. I didn't know how. I tried, a couple of times, but it never came out exactly how I wanted it to. I always left my meaning written between the lines, leaving it to you to interpret. I should have just stood firm and told you. The minute I saw you in that artillery tent in 1918 I should have just let the words spill over. And then 1941 happened and Jessica happened, all at once. Things got fogged up and turned me around and I let you think-" He stopped as he felt a couple of tears escape.

He wiped the hand that wasn't still holding Lucy's across his face to try and gain back control of his spiraling emotions. It barely worked.

"I let you think you were the second choice. You were _never_ second. Those stupid things I did where I refused to let you have your distance? That was because, despite knowing better, I wanted to come to you _first_. You were the person I wanted to talk to, the person I wanted to comfort and find comfort in, the person I wanted to plan a future with. Jessica was the afterthought. _Not you_. Never you. You were always on my mind and I knew you shouldn't have been but I didn't _want_ to let you go. I _couldn't_ let you go. I needed - and still need - you in my life. Losing you was never and will never be an option." He felt her soft hand on his cheek as her thumb brushed away another tear. He turned his head and placed a light kiss to her palm. "If letting you go now means I don't lose your friendship - if it means you're safe and happy - then I will do it. I will do it for you. You deserve safety and happiness, no matter who you find that with."

Tears were streaming down Lucy's cheeks now. There were no gasps or sobs escaping her but he could see the trails of tears shining on her face.

She took a deep breath and then used the hand she still held to drag him out of the kitchen and to a nearby closet.

"Lucy?" He asked when she still didn't speak.

"You just drove seven hours so I assume you're not driving back right away, right?" She asked as she released his hand to open the closet door and shove sheets and a blanket in his arms.

"I-no, no I wasn't planning on driving back right away," he answered her in a confused tone. What was happening right now?

"You can take the pull out then," she said as she pointed over her shoulder to the sofa. "It's not the best but it will do for tonight."

"Lucy-"

"I'll help you make it up."

He sighed and nodded. She wasn't going to address his confession right now. The tears were still slowly falling down her cheeks but she was avoiding looking him in the eye. They silently moved furniture out of the way, unfolded the pull out bed, and made it up with the sheets and the blanket. The silence was tense but there was no other emotion behind it. He didn't sense sadness or anger. It was just plain tension. The unfinished business of things left unsaid.

She grabbed one of her pillows off of the bed and handed it to him, once the bed was made up. He nodded his thanks and threw it down on the bed before giving her an expectant look. What he was expecting her to say he didn't know, but she had to say something, didn't she?

"I don't know what to say," she admitted in a low voice. "Or what to do or-I never expected you to show up here and I definitely never dreamed that you would-God, you said so much. Three months ago I would have given anything to hear those words from you, Wyatt. _Anything_. But now..."

Her eyes drifted from his to the sleeve of the flannel shirt she was still wearing. The one he remembered thinking looked too big for her. Realization dawned then. It was too big. It was too big because it wasn't hers. It was Deacon's.

"Now you have Deacon," he finished for her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She sounded so sad, so conflicted.

"You don't ever have to apologize for being happy, Lucy. _Never_."

"Thing is," she said with a loud exhale. "I'm not sure I am happy, really. I-I keep seeing you. _Everywhere_. If I were happy wouldn't I be able to just...stop thinking about you?"

"That's what you meant by 'real Wyatt' earlier?" He asked with a small grin.

"You're insufferable even in my imagination," she told him with a watery chuckle.

He snorted and laughed lightly. "Sounds about right."

What were the odds they were both seeing visions of each other when they were physically their farthest apart? She shared hers. Maybe he could share his too.

"After a little bit whiskey, I see you too," he admitted. "You're all around the bunker. I know you're not really there. I know I shouldn't let myself see you, but at this point...that ghost of you is all I have. I guess it's my way of punishing myself. I can see you but I can't...I can't reach you. Can't talk to you. Can't touch you. All I can do is watch you. Not much different than now, actually."

She reached for his hand again and threaded her thin fingers through his calloused ones. "We're touching and talking now, aren't we?"

His other hand found the bottom hem of her borrowed flannel and felt the texture of it between his fingers. "But we won't be tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'll be back, right?"

She was silent and that was all the confirmation he needed.

"Do you love him?" He asked. He had no right to know. She didn't have to tell him.

"I don't know. I-I think I _could_ love him, but I don't think I do right now," she answered with a resigned sigh. Like she was allowing herself to fall completely into her conflicted heart.

Knowing that she was so torn over this, over _him_ , hurt. But he did it to himself and to her. It was a situation of his own making.

"Do you love me?" He asked. Once again, she didn't have to tell him. He didn't really expect her to.

"Yes," she confessed. "But I'm not sure I _should_. I'm afraid of what happens to us if I do. I'm afraid of what _Rittenhouse_ will do to us if I do. What if we just keep tearing each other apart? What if all of time and space doesn't want us to try and Jessica was their way of telling us that?"

"So, now you believe in fate when it comes to love?" He asked her with a sad smile. The part of him that soared at the sound of her yes was currently being chastised by the part of him that knew better. Things between them weren't as simple as being in love or not anymore. They couldn't be. "You believe in fated love when it might be the two of us fated to be ripped apart over and over again?"

"Twice now we've come close only to be separated by something," she reminded him. "Don't you think that's a message of some kind?"

"I think we need to work on our timing," he answered with a half hearted smirk. He felt like he was losing his grip on her the more they talked. This was having the opposite effect he wanted. "But what is it that people always say? Third time's a charm? Well, this would be attempt number three, wouldn't it? This could be the one that works out. We'll never know if we don't try."

He just wanted to try. If she would give him that chance then he wouldn't let her down. Not this time. Not after everything he learned while trying to make things work with Jessica. Lucy was the only person he wanted. The only person he would _ever_ want.

"I'll think about it," Lucy replied with a pinched brow. She looked more confused than she had before. That couldn't be good for him.

He would hold on to hope for as long as he could, but he had a feeling this wasn't going to go his way. He wouldn't blame her if it didn't. Deacon deserved her more than he did. He knew that for sure.

They went to bed not long after that. There was nothing left to say and after all the emotions they confronted they were both spent. He'd driven seven hours and had an honest talk with the woman he loved. It was a full day and he'd passed out rather quickly.

He woke up the next morning to the smell of breakfast and the sight of Deacon and Lucy buzzing around the kitchen. There was an easy rhythm between them that reflected exactly how often they had mornings together in this cabin. Deacon was a lucky bastard and Wyatt hoped he knew that. Judging by the awestruck look on the other man's face, Wyatt thought he did. Smart man. Smarter than him, anyway.

Lucy noticed him sit up from her spot in the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of black sweatpants, a cropped white t-shirt, and that silky floral robe she liked so much. She walked toward him and for a moment he thought he was dreaming. Or still hallucinating her. He only knew he wasn't when she placed a very real cup of coffee in his hands, made just how he liked it. Was it a good sign that she still remembered?

"He's here early," Wyatt said as he glanced over at Deacon.

"I called him," Lucy said with a sigh. "I couldn't really sleep so I stayed up packing and thinking."

Packing? Packing to go which way? The bunker or the other safe house? With him or with Deacon? She must have read his question in his eyes.

"I don't know where I'm going yet," she told him. "That's part of the reason I needed to talk to Deac."

He nodded in understanding but he knew she wasn't done. She had something else to say and he could read both apprehension and guilt in her expression. He was not going to like what she said next.

"I need you to do me a favor that I know you're going to hate."

The look she was giving him now was the same look she had given him when she came up with the plan to break Flynn out of prison. But how could he refuse her? He invaded her space after spending so much time hurting her. He had too much ground to recover to say no to any request she made. He gave her an encouraging look to urge her to continue as he sat on the edge of the pull out bed and sipped his coffee. She sat down next to him and took a deep fortifying breath.

"I need you to go back to the bunker."

He nearly choked on his coffee. She needed him to leave? No. How could he do that? She said she needed time but leaving her here would surely mean she chose Deacon over him. The hope he kept kindled last night was quickly dying.

"I told Flynn I would either see you to the other safe house or bring you back to the bunker," Wyatt said with a sigh. "I need to do at least one of those things, Lucy."

She chuckled dryly. "Yes, because you value keeping your word _to Flynn_ so much." She smirked at him knowingly. "Come on."

He let out an amused yet bitter scoff before he spoke, "Why?"

"I need to have a conversation with Deacon that will be very long and, for his comfort, you can't be here when we have it. There are things I need him to know before I make a decision," she said with a shuddering sigh. "I don't want to hurt either of you, Wyatt. You know this conflict better than most people so I was hoping you would understand, but if you don't then—"

She started to get up but he reached out and grabbed her wrist to stop her. She was right. He did know what being stuck between a rock and hard place felt like better than anyone. She had been a goddamn saint to him while Jessica was around. He owed it to her to at least try to be saint-like. Even if it killed him.

"I get it," he told her reluctantly before he released her wrist. He was in boxers and his undershirt or else he would have walked out right then. "I really do. Let me get dressed and then I'll go, okay?"

"You don't have to go _right_ now—"

"If I don't leave now, I'll change my mind," he warned her. "You asked for very little when Jessica came back, Lucy. I want to do this for you. So, yes I have to leave now because I owe you at least that much."

The look she gave him in response was grateful and awestruck and beautiful. It wasn't happy necessarily, but it was the closest he'd come to seeing happiness from her in longer than he cared to admit. It made him want to lean in, close the distance between them, and kiss her. But the sounds of Deacon cooking in the kitchen broke him out of his reverie and brought him harshly back into the present. He couldn't kiss her whenever he wanted to. He couldn't kiss her at all, really.

It hit him then that, as strongly as he felt for her, he really had only ever had one day to be openly affectionate with her. One day. Not even, really. Because a full 24 hours hadn't passed from when he'd made love to Lucy to when he'd gotten that earth shattering text. One day was not enough. It would never be enough. But was that all he would have now? Would those be the memories he'd have to cherish for the rest of his life because he was the damn fool who let Lucy Preston get away?

The odds were stacked against him. He had a chance but it was slim. Deacon had never hurt Lucy the way he had. He was the safer choice for her. He was separate from time travel, from Rittenhouse, from Jessica Logan coming back from the dead. He was unassociated with anything and anyone who had ever hurt her.

Including him.

Lucy squeezed his hand and then surprised him again, she had been doing that a lot since he ran into her yesterday, by placing a lingering kiss to his cheek. He didn't deserve that gesture, but he would gladly take it.

"Thank you," she whispered as she stood and headed back to the kitchen. With Deacon.

Wyatt finished his coffee and then grabbed his clothes off the foot of the bed. He retreated to her bathroom and dressed. He brushed his teeth by borrowing a bit of toothpaste and quickly using his finger. It wasn't great but it was better than nothing. He was rushing to get back on the road. His determination to do as she asked was waning and he couldn't let his jealousy get the better of him this time. Even if it meant he would lose her, he was going to do as he promised. He would and could leave her here knowing it was possible he would never see her again.

When he came back out of the bathroom, Lucy was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with her locket dangling from her neck. No make up, her hair was still rumpled from what little sleep she managed to get, and he could make out tears shining in her eyes still.

Jesus Christ. She was beautiful. Why she didn't see that for herself he would never know.

"I'm going to go," he said as he came to stand in front of her. "Thanks for the coffee and letting me crash here."

"I'll walk you out," Lucy told him with a tell-tale sniffle.

"You don't have to," he told her. She was upset. The longer he stayed and the longer they talked, the more upset she would be. "We can say goodbye here. In fact, that's probably best. If we go out there, where Deacon isn't, I can't promise I won't at least try to kiss you. And I don't think you need that right now."

She bit her bottom lip before nodding her agreement. "You're probably right."

He swallowed thickly and let his eyes roam her face. He was committing her to memory. Every curve, every line, every detail. If he was doomed to an imaginary version of her for the rest of his life then he wanted it to be accurate. He took one step out the door and onto the porch before he turned and gave her a weak lopsided grin.

"See ya later, Babydoll."

Her face pinched for a brief moment and she looked away from him pointedly. He was afraid he'd made a mistake and just upset her further. But she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked back up at him with a weak wave and shaky smile.

"See you around, Sweetheart."

He felt his eyes on her as he walked back to his stolen car and headed down the driveway. He looked in his rear view mirror just as the cabin was disappearing from view and could see her still standing there, watching him leave.

The seven hour drive back to the bunker did nothing to settle his nerves. He was thinking too much. Over analyzing everything that she said, every gesture she made. All it did was leave him more hopeless than ever before. He barely heard Agent Christopher dressing him down for leaving over the sound of his heart actively breaking.

The first person to find him after he got back was Flynn. He didn't ask any questions, just gave him a curious glance.

Wyatt sighed and shook his head. No words were needed. Flynn knew what Lucy's options were. The bunker or a new town. If she wasn't with him then new town was the only answer. Wyatt had accepted it. She hadn't told him that's what she chose but how could she choose anything else?

Rufus found him next. His concern was less about where Lucy was and more about _how_ she was. So, Wyatt told him about her little cabin, Deacon, and the mountain she lived on.

"She's good. Better than either of us," Wyatt answered. "She's got an actual life. A future beyond-" he cut himself off and pointed at the Lifeboat with a dark chuckle. "Beyond the past. Honestly, I wouldn't have come back either. Not to this. Not to _me._ "

"Did she actually say that, though?" Rufus asked him with a critical gaze. "Or are you two doing that thing where you put words in each other's mouths?"

"She asked me to leave, Rufus. She wanted to talk out her decision with _him_. I need to accept that she found someone else. A partner who _isn't_ me," Wyatt said as he swallowed thickly. "She didn't have to spell it out for me. He's the better option for her. Even I could see that."

Rufus didn't look convinced. He looked hopeful, actually. Wyatt couldn't stand that. Hope was going to kill him faster than heartbreak.

"She's not coming back," Wyatt told him. "She's moving on. From _both_ of us."

Rufus still didn't believe him at first, but Wyatt could see it finally sinking in almost forty eight hours later. If Lucy wasn't back after two days, then she wasn't coming back at all.

Wyatt stared at the bottle of Jack on the table. He and Rufus commiserated with a glass. Just one more glass and Wyatt would be able to see her - his imaginary Lucy that floated through his buzzed brain and tortured him with all he couldn't have. But after having the real thing again, even for just a day, his vision of Lucy wasn't enough. He huffed and poured the rest of the bottle down the sink. The ghost of her would _never_ truly soothe him so what was the point of pretending?

He dragged himself to bed and collapsed onto his cot. This was his life now. Trapped in this prison where the only thing he could do was wage a thankless war against time. No hope of anything else. Not without her. He was the soldier who didn't care once before. The soldier who thrived on risk and danger. He could do that again. He could _be_ that again. Lucy was safe. Lucy was happy. Without him. So what was stopping him from risking it all, now? Absolutely nothing.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. It took a lot more effort with only one glass of whiskey in him. Just as he felt consciousness slip away, the perimeter alarm startled him upright.

He bounded from his room, weapon drawn. Rufus and Jiya were both already in the hall. They followed Wyatt into the common area where both Flynn and Mason were waiting. The five of them made their way to the bunker entrance, but still nothing seemed different.

"If it's not me," Flynn yelled above the alarm. "Then who is it? Who are we missing?"

Rufus looked around and counted. "All present and accounted for."

The alarm stopped but Wyatt kept his weapon aimed at the door. Someone had closed the hatch. There was someone beyond the open doorway. His gun stayed raised in that direction until a soft hesitant voice spoke from the shadows of the entrance.

"No body broke out this time."

He sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed thickly as he holstered his weapon. It...it couldn't be. He wasn't that lucky. He had _never_ been that lucky.

But the voice stepped into the light and he felt tears stinging his eyes.

"Somebody broke in."

"Lucy," he said breathlessly. Their eyes met with several feet still between them, but nothing and no one else existed for him. _Just her._

Rufus rushed forward and swept Lucy up in a hug. She laughed and smiled at him as she returned the hug. Jiya followed. Flynn kept his distance. Lucy smiled at him and nodded. He nodded back. Wyatt had no idea what they were communicating but it was something significant. After that it felt like all eyes fell to him. Including Lucy's.

"You came back?" He asked with a furrowed brow.

"My mission isn't over," she told him as her hand wrapped around her locket. "Not until Amy is back and Rittenhouse is gone. I—" Her eyes met his again before she continued. "I can't hide forever."

Rufus cleared his throat from behind them and then turned to the rest of the group. "Well, um, welcome back and we're all going back to bed. Cause, you know, it's late. But you, Lucy, just got here so you stay up as late as you want. Maybe _refamiliarize_ yourself with your surroundings?"

Wyatt didn't need to see the clear amusement on Lucy's face to know that Rufus was most likely gesturing to Wyatt from his position behind him.

"Dude," Wyatt told him with a sigh. "Be cool."

"I'm cool," Rufus said in a voice too high pitched to ever be 'cool.' "I'm always _cool_."

"Yeah, okay," Jiya said with a snort. "Sure, Jan. Let's go back to bed, Joe Cool. Good night, guys. It's good to have you back, Lucy."

Lucy took a moment to look around and then actually _smiled_. A real smile. She pointed her smile at him before she replied to Jiya.

"It's good to _be_ back. I actually missed this tin can. Believe it or not."

"Yeah, I don't believe that," Wyatt told her with a grin. "I know where you've been the last three months and it's a lot better than _this_ ," he told her as he motioned to the rusted metal walls that surrounded them.

"Prettier, maybe," she said with a shrug. "But lonelier, even when I had company."

Once the others were down the hallway and out of sight, Lucy closed the distance between them until they were standing toe-to-toe. Her eyes were soft and her smile was bright. She looked like the happy visions of her he used to see around the bunker. If he didn't know any better he would think he had that second glass of whiskey after all.

"I can't believe you came back," Wyatt said with an amazed shake of his head. "I thought for sure that you would-Are you sure this is what you want, Lucy? You could turn around and leave now and I wouldn't stop you."

She sighed and her smile turned sad. "Don't you think it's time we stopped doing that?"

"Doing what?" Wyatt asked in confusion.

"Being so damn noble," she told him with a huff. "It's a vicious cycle and we _think_ we're doing what's best for the other person but really…"

She trailed off and pulled her eyes from his to study the floor. He placed his hand under her chin and forced her eyes back up to his. "Really what?"

"Really we're just delaying the inevitable," Lucy told him with a reluctant grin. "And causing _more_ hurt, more collateral damage, in the meantime. We swept up too many people in our wake already. Noah, Jessica, Deacon-we try to deny what we both know is there and all we do is hurt other people. I can't do that anymore, Wyatt. I won't do it."

He felt the corners of his mouth lift upward in a smile before he dared to ask, "What does that mean exactly?"

"That means I love you," Lucy said as she took a deep nervous breath. "And I want more than a whirlwind twenty four hours this time. I want a fresh start, a real solid try. _Together_."

"Not that I want to talk to you out of it," he said as his smile widened. "But why? Why _me_? Why not Deacon?"

"It was always you, Wyatt, even when I didn't want it to be...it was _you_ ," she told him as she reached up and ran a light touch through his hair. "We've seen each other at our worst and yet somehow we still want this. We've hurt each other - broken each other's hearts actually - and yet we still end up completely wrapped up in _us_. It has to mean something if we've managed to walk through the fire and come out the other side of it together, doesn't it?" She took a deep breath and placed her other hand on his cheek, softly caressing his face with her thumb. "I cared about Deacon but I would be an idiot to let what we have go. We can fight and yell and be completely frustrated but in the end we would give up everything to see the other happy. That's...that's _unconditional_ and I know how rare that is. I couldn't leave that behind. I couldn't leave _you_ behind. Believe me, I tried."

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears and her smile looked serene. Like she just _knew_ this was the right choice. So different from the conflicted Lucy he'd left behind at that cabin. She believed in them, even when he didn't. How would he ever deserve her?

He felt tears in his own eyes as he marveled at her. "God, I love you."

She chuckled and shrugged modestly. "I know."

He let out a light laugh and wrapped his arms around her waist. "This okay?"

He was so used to boundaries and rules now, he needed to make sure.

She nodded and smiled warmly at him. "Definitely okay."

He smirked and then pressed his forehead to hers, brushing their noses as his lips moved closer to hers. "This okay?" He asked playfully.

She rolled her eyes at him but her smile stayed firmly in place. "Just kiss me, you idiot."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a chuckle as he closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers.

It didn't take long for the kiss to deepen, for her to be pressed flush against him, for lips to part and tongues to tangle. It was a hell of a kiss. The result of too many months apart, of too much unnecessary pain, of too many sacrifices. One kiss became two and then three and then four until neither could keep up with the number and everything seemed to fuse into one long overdue moment of resolution. Tension faded and uncoiled in the midst of the push and pull of their lips and hands. When they finally pulled apart their lips were swollen and red and their skin was flushed and warm.

"Been wanting to do that again since 1941," Wyatt told her as he met her darkened eyes with a warm smile.

"Me too," she admitted.

"Now what?" He asked her with a quirked brow and a lopsided smirk.

"Well, I could think of one _other thing_ we haven't done since 1941," she said as a flirtatious mirth filled her eyes and she worried her bottom lip. Enticing him more than she probably knew. "If you're up for it that is."

His eyebrows rose and he smiled brightly at her. "Am I up for it? _Am I up for it_? I am _always_ up for _that_ ," he said as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. " _Luce_."

He heard her breath catch at the nickname and then pulled back with a wink.

"God, I hope you have a room to yourself tonight."

He laughed loudly and nodded. "As it happens, I actually _do_."

"Wow," she said with a teasing smile. "Do things actually seem to be going our way for once?"

A full smile spread across his face, baring his teeth and all, before he could think to pull it back. "The first of many things that start to go our way, I hope."

She tilted her head slightly and gave him a thoughtful glance and a sunny smile. "Well, we've already hit rock bottom. Seems to me there's nowhere to go but up."

Try as he might, he couldn't fault her logic.

There was nowhere to go but up.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So I promised this chapter to **TheVelvetDusk** a long time ago. It took me way too long to follow through but here it is! The fifth bonus chapter of Up In Smoke.

 **Be warned this is shameless smut**. Highly emotional, shameless smut. (Which honestly these two deserve given what they went through in the previous four chapters.) It warrants a rating change on the story, so **this takes it from a questionable T to a firm M**. (which dooms it to the tricky FFN filter no man's land but whatevs, Lucy and Wyatt need this.)

Happy reading!

angellwings

PS - please forgive the typos. I have read and reread this till I'm sick of looking at it, but I'm sure I missed some things.

* * *

 _The hardest thing I ever learned was,_

 _You're only gonna know what you've got,_

 _When you know it's not coming back._

 _You're only gonna know what to say,_

 _When it's too little, too late._

 _It's me and my heart alone in the dark,_

 _And now you're gone like you said you'd be gone one day,_

 _If I didn't change._

 _And I learned that the hard way._

 _-"The Hard Way" by The Shires_

* * *

The bunker was still the bunker. It still smelled like musty recycled air. It was still drafty in all the strangest places. It still echoed sound no matter how quiet you thought you were being. Like now as it echoed their clumsy footsteps toward Wyatt's room. They had parted for as long as they could stand, which was from the common area to the hall, but they came back together long before they reached his door.

Wyatt was walking her backwards toward his door while he kissed her senseless. She was surprised her legs were still moving. His kisses were too heady. They were like a drug that forced her to focus all her motor skills on her lips. She had none left for walking. With the exception of her white knuckle grip on his cheeks, her limbs felt like jelly.

But this was apparently a problem he was all too happy to resolve for her. He stopped walking, hooked his hands under her ass, and hoisted her up until her legs were wrapped around him and her feet no longer touched the ground. Her clumsy and heavy limbs would no longer impede his progress toward the privacy of his room.

With his hands full of her, he couldn't open the door. He pressed her into the wall next to the door, using it as leverage to hold her against him with one hand. While he reached a hand over to open his door, his lips slipped from hers to kiss a trail down her neck. Her v-neck T-shirt dove down toward her modest cleavage and gave him access to more skin. His hips pushed against her center as his lips skimmed the top of her breast. She gasped out his name in a voice so desperate that she hardly believed it was her own.

Finally the heavy metal door opened and he carried her inside, letting the weight of the door slam loudly behind them.

"Say it again," he pleaded as he lowered her to his cot.

"What?" She asked in a daze as he sat her on the edge of the sad excuse for a bed.

"My name," he said as he ghosted his lips over hers. "Say it again."

Her eyes met his and the longing she found in them nearly knocked her out. She searched his gaze for an explanation. He must have seen the confusion on her face. His endless blue irises slowly scanned her from her hairline to the tip of her chin. One of his hands skimmed across her cheek and brushed her mussed hair out of her face, giving him more of her to observe. While seemingly soaking in every detail of her every feature, he nudged her knees apart with his legs and then knelt in between them. When he spoke next, his eyes were red rimmed and open.

"For months all I've had of you is a ghost," he said in a voice raw with heartbreak. "I've watched you but never once did I hear you speak, and then even before you left I—well we couldn't really talk then without hurting each other. Holding you, kissing you - that's one thing, but I have craved just listening to you talk for longer than you know." His eyes shined with unshed tears as he closed them and pressed his forehead to hers. "I know it might sound crazy, Luce, but _god_ I just want to hear you speak. Even if it's only my name."

 _This man._ Jesus Christ. This amazing caring _good_ man. He missed her voice. He missed her thoughts and her opinions. He missed hearing her _say his name_. She loved him all the more for it.

"Oh god, do I ever love you, Wyatt Logan," she said as she pulled his lips down to hers again. She kissed him intrusively and then pulled back to look at his closed lids and his lashes that stayed firmly pressed against his cheeks.

"I had a ghost of my own you know," she reminded him. "He mostly smirked at me in an all too familiar yet irritating way." His lips curled into that aforementioned smirk and she quickly kissed the half moon dimple that appeared next to it. "He spoke very little and when he did, there was no sound. Just an empty twitch of his lips."

Her hands traced up and combed through his hair as she continued. "You're not the only one who missed the sound of a voice. My _favorite_ voice. The only voice that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine by uttering a singular syllable."

His nose nudged her cheek as he breathed deeply. He breathed in and then on his exhale he uttered the nickname that caused goosebumps to rise all over her skin.

" _Luce."_

His voice was so low and full of need that it made her _ache_ for him. It was an ache stronger than she ever expected and it left her with one realization. This may have started light and flirtatious but it was going to end up assaulting every emotion she could possibly feel. 1941 felt like ages ago. It felt like another world, another universe. She wanted him every day since and _finally_ she could have him.

She could have _every inch_ of him. He could overlap and fill her entire being in a way he hadn't in far too long.

She remembered being nervous during their first night together. What she felt for him terrified and thrilled her like nothing else. But _now_ , she wasn't shaking with nerves. She was shaking from deprivation. She had him once. One glorious bygone night where the stars perfectly aligned. But in the span of one night, he slipped into her bloodstream never to be removed. No matter how she fought it she couldn't purge him from her veins. He was there to stay, a necessity she never anticipated.

Denying herself the basic need that he became left her too wanton. She was overcome. Overcome with love, grief, awe. She was feeling it all at one time. The floodgates opened leaving her awash with everything she kept so closely guarded for months on end. Was it possible to want someone _too much_?

His lips caught her cheek and he pulled back with a startled glance. His eyes bore concern and then tenderness as he brought a hand up to caress the cheek he had just kissed. She didn't understand until he pulled his hand away and she saw the moisture collected on the pads of his fingers. She was crying and she hadn't known it. They had barely begun and already she was an emotional mess.

But how could she help it? He wasn't a figment of her imagination anymore. He was solid and warm and _real_. More real than he had been the last time they shared this hellhole of a bunker together. More real than he had been since he'd gotten that dreadful text and left her standing alone in his clothes. There was nothing between them now. No lies, no secrets, no formerly dead wives. In fact, the only thing between them at all was clothing.

And that was easily remedied.

She reached out with shaking hands and found buttons on his shirt. As she began to indelicately undo each button, she realized she'd not only seen this particular flannel shirt before... _she'd worn it_. And she had every intention of wearing it _again_ once they were sated and their body heat wasn't enough to keep away the chill of the bunker.

While she unbuttoned his shirt, Wyatt leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers once again. He caught her bottom lip between his and thoroughly tasted it before drifting lower. He tugged at the neck of her shirt until her shoulder was exposed. Just as she reached the last button on his shirt he nipped at her collar bone. It was a bite so slow and teasing that it caused her to groan involuntarily. The bite was replaced by the seal of his mouth against her skin as she shoved his shirt down his arms. He speedily flung it off and onto the empty cot across from his, never once stopping his siege on her neck.

He was going to leave a mark if he didn't stop soon. She _should_ care. They weren't teenagers. A _hickey_ was hardly appropriate for a grown woman, but good god did the heat of his mouth ever feel heavenly. Although, that wasn't really where she _wanted_ the heat of his mouth, was it? No, his mouth had much better things to do. She reached for the bottom hem of the thin t-shirt he still wore and pulled it up over his head, forcing him to remove his lips from her neck. Once that was done, she didn't give him another chance to waste that mouth of his on a hickey.

Her lips met his in a slow, open mouthed kiss that she hoped would set the pace for everything to come. She had been without him for so long. Now that she had him back, all she wanted to do was slowly sip from his entire being. She wanted to savor every moment despite her instinctual craving for instant gratification.

His arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her flush against him as he gradually led them to stand. Once she was firm on her feet his hands released her to shed himself of his belt and his jeans. Her hands framed his face and slipped back and forth across his scalp. She dropped one hand down to his cheek, eager to feel the prickle of his stubble beneath her palms. It was the little things she missed the most, the textures of him.

The stubble, the softness of his short hair. Her hand continued it's trail across his shoulders and chest to take in the hardened muscle and then lower still to the smooth puckering of his many scars. One on his lower abdomen from their second jump ever, one on his opposite side from a wound he had yet to tell her about, a smattering of smaller ones that spread across the entirety of his chest. He sucked in a breath and pulled back just barely as her hands stopped on each raised mark.

Finally, the jeans and belt joined the flannel on the opposite cot. He grabbed her hand that had been exploring his skin and brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss to her palm.

"You've got a few calluses now, ma'am," he said softly as he opened her palm and stared at the small areas of rough skin.

She'd forgotten about the calluses along the webbing of her hand and the inside of her thumb on her dominant hand, but he noticed. He noticed the difference even if he hadn't felt her touch in too many months.

"It's, um, from the slide of a-"

"Gun," he finished for her with a nod. "I know. You've been practicing?"

Flynn taught her the basics and Deacon helped her keep it fresh, in case she ever needed it. Should she tell him that? Should she bring up Flynn and Deacon _now_?

"Yes," she answered simply. "Just in case."

She could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew who must have taught her. He put it all together himself. She didn't need to say the names. He kissed the inside curve of her thumb and then the webbing next to it before he spoke in a tone full of regret.

"It should have been me," he told her. "I should have been the one to teach you."

"If I'd stuck around," she said as she matched his regret with her own. "You would have been."

"You wouldn't have had to leave if I'd gotten my head out of my ass a lot sooner," he told her with a shake of his head. "You have no reason to feel badly about that, Lucy."

He threaded his fingers through hers and then placed a gentle kiss to the shell of her ear.

"I'm glad you knew what you needed and acted on it. It's okay to take care of yourself," he said as he kept his lips pressed to her ear. "God knows I wasn't any help with that."

"You had your own set of problems, Wyatt."

"That's no excuse," he told her as he pulled back to meet her eyes. "You've shown me that I'm better than that. Long before 1941, _you_ showed me who I really was and who I wanted to be. The man you've known since Jessica came back is _nothing_ like the man you helped me become. He was a self involved asshole. I don't want to be that man anymore."

"You're not him," she assured him. "That's not the real you. I know that."

He let out a conflicted sigh and shook his head at her. She could feel the melancholy over taking the moment. They were together. The past was forgotten. She couldn't let it swallow them up _now_.

"Fine," she said with a smirk. She put a hand under his chin and lifted his eyes to hers. She had an idea that might help. Both of them. "You don't need to prove anything to me, _but_ would it help if you had the chance to? The chance to show me that you know how to take care of me?"

A slow heated grin spread across his face as he caught her meaning. His eyes darkened and his hands gripped her hips before he nodded wordlessly. She could see his strategic brain already formulating a plan. She'd seen that look numerous times, but never in this context. Never in the effort of _pleasure_. He had yet to do a single thing and already warmth was pooling low in her belly.

One look and she was already on her way to the highest of highs.

She took a deep breath to prepare herself for what might come next before stepping out of his arms and beckoning him forward. "Then have at it, Soldier. I'm all yours."

On those last three words his grin turned wolfish and he let out a low chuckle. "All mine, huh?"

She suddenly found it hard to breathe as his sensual gaze met hers. The intensity of what she felt for him bubbled over in her reply. "Always."

His grin fell and his expression turned serious barely a second passed before he grabbed her waist and yanked her against him. She let out a surprised gasp as she collided with his bare chest. One of his hands found her cheek as his eyes crashed into hers.

"Glad to hear it," he said as he took a deep breath. "Because I'm never going to want anyone else for the rest of my life. From now on, there's only you, _Luce_. Only you."

She anticipated a kiss to her lips to follow that declaration but she was wrong. Instead, he knelt in front of her as his hands gathered her shirt at her waist to expose the lower part of her stomach. She felt off balance at the first touch of his lips and tongue to lower abdomen. It was unexpected. She braced herself with a hand on his shoulder and one on the back of his head. His hands dropped her shirt and she felt them tugging at the waistband of her jeans. She felt the button let go and the slow tortuous slide of the zipper fly and then his hands slipped beneath the denim. They cupped her backside and pulled her tighter against him.

Her jeans were pushed down lower until the waistband rested on top of her thighs. His teeth bit softly at the skin on her hips, one bite on either hip, and then continued their descent. At this point her desire for him was obvious and slick against the fabric of her underwear. He was teasing her to point of insanity. The warmth of his lips and tongue ghosted over the cotton and lace between her legs and no amount of biting her lip could hold back the sound that left her throat. He pulled her jeans down further until they were gathered below her knees and then stood to plant a searing kiss to her lips.

This kiss was not gentle. It was savage with want and need and longing. Tongues explored and teeth nipped. He sucked and nibbled and slowly pushed her back onto the cot until she laid flat and his full weight covered her. The long chain of hungry kisses ended but only so he could return his focus to her lower half. He pulled the jeans down and off the rest of her legs and carelessly tossed them aside.

He reverently swept his fingers over the length of her bare legs, beginning with the arches of her feet and ending with the undersides of her knees.

He placed a singular light kiss on each calf before meeting her eyes.

"I'm sure you have no idea how much I _appreciate_ these legs," he told her with an amused grin. "Considering you refuse to admit to being beautiful which makes no sense to me."

"These?" She asked with a furrowed brow as she tried to wiggle one of his grasp. "These scrawny chicken legs? Seriously?"

His grip tightened and then his thumb trailed a soft line across her skin. He shook his head at her in disbelief. "Scrawny chicken-" he huffed and then pressed his lips to the curve of her calf. She felt his tongue dart out from between his lips. He stopped when he heard her take in a sharp breath in response. "You do not have scrawny chicken legs, Preston. I don't know what you see when you look in the mirror but I can assure you, you do _not_ have an accurate picture of yourself."

"I'm just repeating what I've been told," she replied with a shrug.

"By _who_?" he asked as an offended ire rose in his eyes. "Give me names because I swear to god I will-"

She chuckled and placed a hand over his mouth. "I think you're getting a little bit sidetracked, _Sweetheart_. I appreciate your willingness to beat up anyone who doesn't find my legs as attractive as you do, but I think we have better things to do at the moment."

"Fine," he said as she removed her hand. "We're tabling this for later though, _Babydoll_."

She laughed lightly and threw her head back against his pillow. "Whatever."

He crawled up the length of her until his eyes were even with hers. "You're just going to have to accept it, _Luce_."

"Accept what?" She asked with a challenging smirk.

"You're goddamn beautiful and that's all there is to it." He stated in a voice so confident, so matter of fact, that she couldn't bring herself to deny it.

But she couldn't confirm it either so she turned her head and pointedly looked away from him. He must have anticipated it because the minute she turned away his lips were on her pulse point. She arched against him and wrapped her arms around him. Her fingers pressed into his back while finding the faint scars left over from the explosion at Mason. The first time she thought she'd lost him forever.

His hands traced her sides, snaking under her shirt. He continued to kiss across her neck and she arched again, this time when arched his hands splayed across her back until they found the clasp of her bra. He made short work of undoing it and then helped her slip her arms out of her short sleeves. The shirt went up and over and the straps of her bra came down and off. They disappeared from between them and then _finally_ they were naked chest to naked chest.

His lips found hers for a series of explosive kisses. Their frenetic energy was renewed by the thrill of skin on skin. His hand gently nudged her knees apart and he settled himself in between her legs. She could feel his desire for her hot and hard through the fabric of his boxers. His hips snapped to hers as he ground himself against her causing her to whine into his mouth. The friction between them was too delicious. He was winding her up very slowly and with deliberate purpose.

His hand slipped below the elastic waist of her underwear and she let out a satisfied sigh as his fingers began to toy with her overheated center. His lips left hers to ghost over collar bone and the glide further down to the dip between her breasts.

"Luce," he whispered as his breathing hitched midway though. "God, you're perfect."

His mouth claimed one hard nipple while his hand continued to claim the bundle of nerves between her thighs. She could feel the tension coiling now. He was pulling her tighter and tighter and like a rubber band under too much strain she could feel her breaking point coming.

Without warning two of his fingers dove inside of her and his name was ripped from her throat. Loud and harsh. He repeated the one syllable nickname that would always be her weakness as his fingers pulsed in and out. She was bucking against his hand with wild abandon and unable to breathe without also releasing a low moan on every exhale. She was close. She was so damn close. She needed one final tug for the rubber band to snap.

As if he could read her mind, he added a third finger to his thrusts. She cried out as she came. Heart thumping against her ribs, toes curling, hands fisting into the sheets. Another murmur of her name from his lips as they pressed against her chest caused one last shudder of an aftershock to ripple through her.

He wanted to prove he could take care of her and good god had he ever managed it _spectacularly_.

"You okay up there, Luce?" He asked as she felt his smug smile against her skin.

She let out a low chuckle and languidly ran her fingers through his hair. " _Oh_ so much better than _okay_ , Master Sergeant."

"Good because we're not done." His fingers hooked around her underwear and pulled. She felt the wet fabric against her legs as he slipped them off of her and discarded them.

She found the presence of mind in her dazed afterglow to reach down and still his hands over the waist of his boxers.

"My turn," she said as she flashed him a cheeky smile.

He braced his hands against the mattress as she shimmied beneath him. He groaned and shook his head from above her.

"You keep that up and I won't make it much longer."

She rolled her eyes playfully and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "I'm sure you'll survive."

She placed an open mouthed kiss to his shoulder, making sure to taste him. She continued on her journey beneath him, marking him with her lips and tongue. She nipped at his muscular chest the way he'd nipped at her until she reached her intended target. She tenderly kissed his scar from 1865 several times, replaying the image of him from those early missions. The man she'd met who had grown into the man she loved. From there she allowed herself to remember him on that inevitable night in 1941. The support and love and care. With that thought in mind her hand delved into his boxers and wrapped around him.

He hissed and instinctually thrust into her hand. She swept her thumb over the tip of him and felt him jerk against her.

"Lucy," he said in a warning tone. "I'm not kidding. You're going to bring an end to this much sooner than either of us want."

She kissed his scar again and then chuckled against his well toned stomach. "Relax, Logan. I know."

His hips twitched again as her warm breath hit his skin. "Jesus. Just remove the damn boxers and get back up here."

She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing at him, but did as he asked. She released the solid length of him and then skimmed her hands between the elastic and the skin of his hips until her hands rested on the top curve of his ass.

"You appreciate my legs, but you know what I can't help but appreciate?" She asked as she lightly squeezed. "You've got a great ass. You know that, Logan?"

His moan turned into a deep chuckle. "You're really pushing my limits here, Luce."

"Somebody has to," she said with a light hum of a laugh. "Might as well be me."

Without further ado, she slipped his boxers down and then he kicked them the rest of the way off. She kissed the same trail back up his chest as she had down and then smiled smugly at him as she reached eye level again.

"Was that as fun for you as it was for me?" She asked.

"I'm supposed to be taking care of _you_ , remember? That little stunt you just pulled was completely unfair," he said as he nuzzled his nose and lips against the curve of her neck.

"Had to give you a little tease of next time, didn't I?" She asked in a sultry whisper. "When I get to have all the fun I want _with you_."

He groaned and buried his face into her neck. "I'm not sure I could survive that. Just the memory of your hand is enough to finish me off."

"I have faith in you," she whispered, kissing the shell of his ear. "You are Delta Force, after all."

"Yeah, there's no training program on _Earth_ that could prepare me for _you_ , Babydoll," he said as he pressed a light awed kiss to her perspiring skin.

She laughed and wrapped her legs around his hips. "I'm not sure if that's flattering or insulting." She thrust upward and ground herself against him now that they were both completely exposed.

The sound that left his throat at the movement was completely foreign to her. It was some mingled version a moan and a whine.

"That good, huh?" She asked with a teasing smile and raised eyebrows.

"Listen," he said with an embarrassed blush and a sheepish grin. "I have been trapped here without you for ninety fucking days. That's three months of wanting to touch you, talk to you, hold you." His hands traced over her neck and then her arms before he spoke again. "And that's just since I got my shit together. I wanted more of you long before that so really we're talking five months. For five months I have wanted _this_. Your skin against mine, my hands every where I can reach, my lips tasting you all over." He paused and she watched as his gaze darkened to a deep navy. He shook his head as he brought his eyes to hers again. "I mean, Jesus Christ, we're lucky I haven't spontaneously combusted yet."

She smiled brightly at him and nodded. She slowly slipped her hand in between them and wrapped her fingers around him once again. He bit down on his lip and sucked in a breath. She guided him to her and then waited for him to make the next move.

"Then what exactly are you waiting on, Sweetheart? Last I checked, you have me right where you want me," she told him.

"Oh god, I love you," he said as he slowly pushed into her.

Her eyes fell closed and her head tilted back as he sank into her. _Perfect_. It was _perfect._ What rang true in 1941 still rang true today. He was her missing piece and no one would fit against her the way he did. _No one_.

She came back to herself a moment later and framed his face with her hands. She pulled him down for a kiss and then held him there, bumping her nose against his. "I love you too. And I'm never going anywhere again. Not without you, anyway."

"Good," he told her. "I know I've broken promises to you before, Luce, but not anymore. I'm going to make good on all of them. Starting with the most important one."

"What's that?" She asked with a gasp as he moved inside of her. He barely moved at all but she felt the earth shift underneath her.

"You haven't lost me," he whispered as he thrust inside of her. "And you never will."

Tears sprang to her eyes at the conviction in his voice. She believed him. She truly believed him. She had every reason not to, but she did. With each kiss, each thrust, each soft assurance he uttered against her skin she believed him more and more. He loved her. He wanted her. He would never let her down again. Their easy rhythm built and released with Wyatt collapsing against her as her muscles continued to spasm around him. The connection of their bodies held for a moment longer. His eyes landed on the tears she knew covered her cheeks.

"Sorry," she mumbled as she tried to bring a hand up to wipe them away.

He caught her hand before she could and then kissed each wet cheek. "Don't apologize, Lucy. Not for this." His eyes were glittering with his own unshed tears as he continued. "Not to me. I went through this hell with you. My heart broke in perfect time with yours. _I get it_. I feel it too. But that's over. We're together. A part of me still can't believe you came back but now that you have...I'm damn well not gonna take you for granted ever again. Okay?"

She nodded and caressed a hand over his cheek. "Okay."

"No more ghosts, no more hazy visions, no more living in our imaginations," he promised.

"No more pining for each other," Lucy agreed. "No more learning the hard way."

"Exactly," he told her as pressed a kiss to the to her forehead. "Hold on."

He left the bed for a brief moment and when he came back he held out the flannel she'd removed from him earlier. He smirked and held it up, prepared to help her slip her arms in the sleeves. She smiled warmly at him and blushed as she sat up.

"How did you know?" She asked.

"You don't think the memory of you in this shirt is burned into my memory?" He asked as he watched her put one arm in and then the other. He buttoned it for her as he went on. "I only wore it because it reminded me of you."

He left the top two buttons undone and leaned forward to kiss her deeply.

"You keep it," he told her as he settled back into the bed and pulled her down with him. "Looks better on you."

She chuckled and nestled into his side. "I was going to anyway."

He laughed as she felt him drop a kiss into her hair. "I figured as much."

Sleep was creeping up on her now. She could feel it in the heaviness of her limbs and the drooping of her eyelids.

"Sleep, Lucy," Wyatt told her, warmth and affection dripped from his tone. It threatened to lull her to sleep all on it's own."You've had a long day."

He was right, she knew he was right, but there was still one more thing she wanted to say before sleep claimed her.

She hummed her agreement and nuzzled her face into his neck before she was finally able to speak. "Just so you know, when we talk about sleeping arrangements with the rest of the bunker tomorrow, I'm staying _here_."

"Yes, ma'am. Whatever you want. After three months of living with your shadow, I would much prefer the real thing. You can trust me on that."

She wanted to agree with him, but sleep was coming much too quickly now and the words died on her lips as she finally succumbed.

 _Me too_.

Now that she had the real thing back, she was never letting him go.


End file.
